


🔮Eight Days a Week🔮

by skyofblue_seaofgreen



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Brian is a Dad, Enjoy!, TW for death, billy and paul bond :), billy has a nervous breakdown for 57 minutes straight, he's sweet though, i'll try to add as many trigger warnings as i can when they come up, john angsts over paul, tw for a lot of mentions of car accidents, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 55
Words: 60,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyofblue_seaofgreen/pseuds/skyofblue_seaofgreen
Summary: Billy is trying to fit into his new place as replacement for Paul McCartney in the Beatles. But as John, George, and Ringo are still trying to accept their lost bandmate's death, Billy is looked over in the process. Luckily, Paul's ghost is more than happy to come to Billy's aid and teach him a thing or two about what it's like to be a Beatle.
Relationships: Billy Shears & Brian Epstein, Billy Shears & Paul McCartney, Brian Epstein & The Beatles, George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 97
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for checking out my fic, I really appreciate it. This story can get a little heavy at times, so I'll add as many trigger warnings as I can for every chapter. If you see some I missed, let me know! Enjoy! -Blue 🍋  
> Trigger Warnings for this chapter:  
> -death  
> -mentions of car wrecks

“I think he’s it.” 

Billy felt increasingly uncomfortable as the remaining three Beatles— _Beatles!_ —stood over him, going over every little thing about him, scrutinizing him like a rare insect. He put his head a little lower, wondering if taking up this offer was a bad idea.

“Are you sure? I thought that _Samuel_ guy looked like him,” George stared over at John, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Billy since he walked in the building. “I don’t know. I don’t want to slip up, ‘s all.”

“I know,” John leaned back, crossing his arms. “But he looks nearly identical to Paul.”

“Yeah, _nearly_ ,” Ringo said quietly. “We want _exactly_.”

“Well, we can’t get someone who looks _exactly_ like him,” John growled, and Ringo’s eyes lit up with caution. Billy stared down at his hands. His knuckles had flushed white based on how hard he was folding them together. 

“So...um…” he mumbled, taking advantage of the silence. “Am I in?”

John, George, and Ringo all shared a look. Billy couldn’t read their expressions. Then John gave him a sharp look. “Yeah, sure. You’re in.”

Billy couldn’t help but smile. 

\---

Paul’s apartment was dark and musty out of so little use, and Billy couldn’t sleep. He just stared at the moon-lit silver ceiling, eyes wide open. He was a Beatle now. Starting tomorrow. It was hard to believe it. This felt like one big...nightmare…but a good sort of nightmare? Nightmare flushed pink?

Billy suddenly heard a bump outside the closed door, and immediately he sat up. It sounded like that was nearly directly outside. Heart pounding, Billy strained to hear for more. There weren’t any more bumps, but he could have sworn he heard a picture on the wall swing. 

Billy leaned over the edge of the bed, feeling around for the flashlight he’d seen underneath it. Terror pricked at his fingertips as he gently shuffled to the door. He peered through the keyhole. It was completely dark.

He figured he might as well take his chances.

Billy swung open the door, breath catching in his throat. He expected to see someone standing there; a dark, shadowy figure with cold eyes and a knife. But it was no one. Just the round clock, ticking and staring him down like an eye. 

Billy very slowly looked to the left at the picture on the wall. It had been crooked before. Now it was perfectly straight. Even dusted.

“Hello?” Billy called, looking around some more. “Is anyone here?”

“This is _your_ apartment now, y’know. You need to keep it tidy.”

Billy jumped at the clear voice that rang from the other room. “Who’s here?” he said, not daring to even look in that direction. “Go ahead. Tell me.”

Out of his peripheral vision he saw a pale figure move to lean against the door frame. “Well, technically it’s still _my_ apartment too, but...y’know. You’re the one who’s proactive here.”

Billy very slowly turned to see who was talking. His eyes stretched wide when he saw them. It was...it was Paul. “But you’re _dead_!” he shouted out loud. Paul didn’t seem phased. He just stared.

“Yeah?”

“You’re…” 

“A ghost, wooo,” Paul grinned. “Yeah.”

“Why...why are…” Billy fumbled and tripped over his words. “You’re…”

“Spit it out, Billy,” Paul snapped. “If I’m gonna haunt you, you have to learn to use your words, alright?”

Billy swallowed and nodded. “M-kay.” 

“Good,” Paul said. He straightened his tie, which was hanging from his white collared shirt. A blazer draped over that. Billy could see the dark, spotched edges, ripped and torn. He winced. “Well, I suppose we should have a proper introduction. We’re still human, right?”

Billy could hardly breathe as Paul came over to him, holding out his pale, transparent hand and expecting him to shake it. “The name’s Paul McCartney, and from now on, I’ll be your teacher.”

“Teacher?” 

“Shake it. Manners first.”

Billy shook it. Surprisingly, he could feel it. Very cold.

“Yes, teacher,” Paul answered. “Bless the others’ hearts, but if you’re going to be me for the rest of your life, you’re going to have to hear it from _me_.”

“For the rest of my _life_?”

“Yeah?” Paul stared up at him quickly, and a chill ran through Billy’s back. “What? Did you think you’d just be me for a year or two and then drop off the face of the earth? We’re Beatles, Billy. That’s next to _impossible_.”

“Okay.”

“First things first.” Paul turned around and put his hands on his hips. “This place looks like a _pigsty._ ”

Billy looked over his shoulder. He was taller than Paul. “I thought it was alright.”

“Well, I don’t, y’know,” Paul replied snappishly. “Did you have a party as soon as you moved in here, or something?” He drifted over to the living room, Billy shuffling along. Paul picked a lampshade off of the ground and put it back on the lamp. “Well? Did you?”

“No, sir.”

Paul grinned. “Don’t call me sir,” he laughed, and Billy relaxed a bit. “God, don’t make me _that_ uncomfortable. Here, Billy, we’ll be friends. I don’t want you to feel like you’re in school all over again. I’ll try to make it fun, but I’ve never done this before, y’know.”

“What, taught someone to be you?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Paul sniffed and picked up a pillow on the couch, fluffing it out without breaking eye contact with his new pupil. “This is gonna be a tough one,” he said. “I can see you’re keen to learn, but...I just don’t know if you’ll be able to do it.”

“I can,” Billy protested. “I’m just a little shocked that a real-life spirit is in my—your? _Our_ apartment.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to get used to it, son.”

Billy sighed. “I guess.” He looked over at the clock. It was 12:54. How was he not tired? He watched Paul move around, slowly tidying up the living room. “Well, really, I’ve been scared to touch your stuff.”

“Scared?” Paul turned around. “Why?”

“I dunno.”

Paul smiled. “D’ya think it’s _cursed_?”

“Cursed!” 

“Yeah,” Paul answered.

“No, I just...I feel bad using a dead guy’s stuff.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

Paul rolled his eyes and straightened the antenna on the television. “I mean, it doesn’t really offend me, y’know. I’ve had a month to come to terms with it. But when the others picked you to be me it really hit something,” he said.

Billy very gently sat down on the couch, careful not to mess up any of Paul’s work. “Oh,” he mumbled, not knowing what else to say. “Well, it’s not like they’ll _forget_ about you…”

“I know, but...it’s really _real_ now that there’s someone to replace me.” Paul stared at the pitch-black television screen like there was the most interesting program in the world on it. “But ya don’t have to feel bad about it, Billy. ‘S not _your_ fault.”

“Whose is it?”

Paul shrugged. “I dunno. Rita’s?”

There was a long moment of paralyzing silence before Paul finally stood up again. Billy flinched. “Well, I suppose the first step of being taught is having a good night’s rest,” he said. “So...uh...go on. I’ll tidy up around here.”

Billy hesitated before standing up. “Oh. Okay.” He shuffled over to the bedroom and held onto the door frame. “Goodnight.”

Paul didn’t look at him. “Night.”

Billy went inside and very gently shut the door, crawling back under the covers. He still didn’t know how he was expected to sleep. There was a _ghost_...a real life, really dead spirit in his house. And it was Paul McCartney. He didn’t even know how he was going to close his eyes. 

He didn’t know how he did. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day begins.  
> TW for this chapter:  
> -mentions of death

Morning came like a breath of fresh air...for about half a second. Billy opened his eyes and immediately remembered the night before’s events. And he laid there, perfectly still and petrified for about five minutes before he heard the bump of glass against the counter and sighed. Paul hadn’t left. 

He didn’t know if that was supposed to be relieving or not.

Very slowly he stood up and brushed himself off. He shambled over to the closet and poked his head inside. All of Paul’s stuff had a thin coat of dust on it from so little use. But Billy knew he couldn’t wear his own stuff anymore. 

He tried to pick out the most neutral outfit in the world and took a long while using duct tape to peel the dust off. At the end it looked...okay, so he figured he might as well go meet the ghost in his house for breakfast. 

Billy nearly laughed as he opened the door.

As expected, Paul was making breakfast. A perfectly brewed coffee was sitting on the kitchen table on the cleanest plate in the world. There was a vague scent of dish soap in the air, and Billy realized Paul must have run the dishwasher.

And the ghost in question was standing at the counter, dusting it off with a rag. He glanced up at Billy for a long time. “Well, are you gonna sit down? I didn’t make that coffee for nothing, y’know.”

“Yeah, okay,” Billy sat down at the table and just stared into the abyss of brown in the mug. A ghost had made him this. A _ghost_.

It was pretty good.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Paul said, coming over with a bowl of corn flakes. It was like he was Billy’s housewife, strangely enough. “What are you scheduled to do with them?”

“I don’t remember,” Billy answered.

Paul scowled. “I have a planner sitting right over there. It hasn’t been used since November and the pen is drying up,” he pointed with an icy finger to the table by the door. Billy had seen it on his way in. The last thing written down was on November 9th, 1966 and the entry was Studio 10:30.

“Okay, okay, I’ll use it,” Billy held up his hands. “I thought that was a Brian thing.”

“A Brian thing?”

“Planning.”

“Oh, yeah, but…” Paul shrugged. “Now that we’re not touring anymore, he’s expecting us to fend for ourselves a little bit more than usual.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Billy sighed again, staring down at the ring of remaining coffee at the bottom of his mug. This was next to impossible. How was he supposed to deal with sharing a flat with a ghost? Their conversations were already staggered.

“So...do you remember yet?” Paul’s voice echoed back from the other end of the hallway. Billy hadn’t realized he was gone. “I mean...you’ve got to. It was only yesterday, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah, yeah, it was,” Billy leaned back. “I think I’m supposed to have a studio tour or something? They’re not scheduling this very well.”

“Well, it’s the first time they’ve had to teach somebody how to do all the stuff they do,” Paul called back. “You’ve got to expect them to be a little hesitant. And they’re also dealing with their own personal stuff.”

“I—I know,” Billy answered. “Yeah.” 

Paul spun around and stared at him. “Are you tired?” he said simply, going over the planner and bringing it over to him. He slapped it down in front of Billy, the pen rattling down the glass table. “Plan to go to sleep earlier.”

Billy stared up at him for a long time. “What’s your deal?”

Paul blinked. “Huh?”

“I dunno...aren’t you supposed to be...like...in _heaven_ or something? Why are you here? What do you want to _accomplish_?” Billy knew he seemed aggressive, but he needed to know why there was an actual dead human soul in his house. It wasn’t just so he could teach him. There had to be something else there.

Paul narrowed his eyes. “Because I want to make sure the future of my _band_ isn’t in the hands of some _lunatic_ ,” he answered snappishly. “I want to make sure you’re not gonna _hurt_ John or George, or Bri or Ritchie. Make sure you’re not gonna drag ‘em _down_.”

“Why would I do that?”

“People have strange motives.”

“Well, I _don’t_ ,” Billy replied. “I just want to make sure people can enjoy your music for a long time to come. I don’t wanna...what...drag everyone down? What would I gain from that?”

“So what’s your point?”

“My point is, I don’t want you here anymore.”

For the first time, Paul seemed startled. “What?” he said, voice not wavering in the slightest. “What do you mean? Your new job is just to be me, and you don’t want me to teach you how to _do_ it?”

Billy stood up and brushed himself off. “I think I’ll be alright,” he said, taking up his coffee and the plate underneath it. “I can make my own breakfast. Plan my own week. Fluff my own pillows.” 

Paul drifted behind him. “B-but I won’t have anywhere to _go_ if I’m not with you.”

Billy looked over his shoulder. It seemed like all the life—no pun intended—had drained out of him. “What about John’s, or George’s? Ringo’s?”

“They have families of their own,” Paul rubbed his arm, looking at the wall. “They don’t need someone else to look after. Besides, they might be _mad_ at me.”

“Why would they be mad?” 

“‘Cause...I don’t know, they’re dealing with their own emotions,” Paul murmured. “They probably don’t want the ghost of their dead _bandmate_ following them around everywhere.”

“You’re doing that to _me_.”

“I know, but you need it.”

“I don’t need it!” Billy protested. 

Paul whirled around. “Okay,” he said plainly. “Okay, fine. You don’t need it. I guess I’ll just go then. Onto the streets, all alone with nowhere to go.” 

Billy watched him drift slowly to the door, barely moving. He sighed. “Fine, Paul. But when we go to the studio you can’t let them see you, alright?”

Paul turned around, his ghostly face bright with happiness. “Yes!” he cheered, speeding right back to Billy. “Oh, you won’t regret this. I promise!”


	3. Chapter 3

Billy pulled in beside EMI Studios, Paul sitting beside him, pressing his hands against the icy window. “Here we are,” he sighed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

Billy parked the car by the street, between two others. “How long?”

“Well, I came here after I died, for a little bit. But it was boring. No one was here…” he sighed. “At least in our studio. But now everyone’s going to come! I can’t wait to see—”

“Remember, you’re not  _ appearing _ to ‘em, right?” Billy unbuckled his seatbelt as Paul just slid through the door. “Just...I mean...you’ll be there.”

Paul took a while to answer. “I know.”

Inside was a lot warmer, and Billy managed to pass by the woman at the front desk without arousing too much suspicion. He stood in front of the dark door to Studio 2, having to compose himself before going in. He could see people already inside through the frosted windows. 

“C’mon, what’re you waiting for?”

Billy glanced over at Paul, who was practically jumping up and down in excitement. “You to disappear,” he answered. Paul looked vaguely disappointed before fading out of view. Taking a deep breath, Billy put his hand around the doorknob and pushed his way inside. 

Immediately everyone stopped what they were doing. Billy’s gaze drifted up to the top of the control room stairs, where Brian was standing like a bat in the dark. He shivered. Brian was quite intimidating when he wanted to be. He didn’t break eye contact with Billy his entire way in. “He probably doesn’t trust you yet,” Paul muttered, and it nearly scared him out of his wits. 

“Shush,” he hissed, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear. 

Ringo paused before finally deciding to go over and greet Billy. He stuck his hand out like they were first meeting. “There you are,” he said. “About time you showed up.”

“Sorry, was I late?” Billy said worriedly.

Ringo waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it,” was all he said, and Billy sighed. He was late. He looked around the expansive studio. The carpet was a fancy pattern, red and orange and yellow. There were different sized speakers scattered around and leaning up against the wall. A bunch of music stands accumulated in the corner, some headphones resting on top of them. A long staircase hugged the left wall, at the top was the ominous Brian. 

There were some doors on the side of the stairs, and another one underneath the control room. A couple guitars leaned up against different things, and Ringo’s drum kit was settled in the corner, a couple of pads around it to capture the sound. Despite the four lights on the ceiling, it was pretty dimly lit. Billy noticed the switch wasn’t flipped all the way up. Purposefully?

John and George were standing by the drum kit, giving Billy glances over their shoulders. George had an acoustic guitar that he was air-playing, fingers hovering over the strings but not strumming them. John caught Billy’s gaze but it immediately dropped down to the floor again. Billy could understand. Those two had just lost their closest friend in the world, and they probably weren’t too keen on talking to his replacement yet.

“I hope you can let John and George be for a little bit. They’re not...feeling up to it today. Ready for the tour?” Ringo said, trying his best to seem friendly. But Billy could see the sad glint in his soft blue eyes. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Billy put his hands in his pockets and nodded.

“Okay,” Ringo sighed. “So...welcome to the studio, I guess. This is where we make music, obviously. I...uh…” He looked around nervously. “This is the main room. We mostly stay down here to...y’know. Play the stuff.

“There’s some stands, but we don’t really use them,” Ringo waved his hand to the music stands in the back. “We don’t read music. But if you do, that’s fine...I don’t…”

“Yeah, I don’t either,” Billy said reassuringly.

“Okay,” Ringo said, ambling over to the doors on the stairs. He opened one of them, and a few strange-looking objects tumbled out. “There’s a bunch of instruments in here that we don’t really use that often. But they’re useful sometimes. Maybe you know how to play one of ‘em.”

“Maybe.”

Ringo circled around to the staircase. “C’mon, let’s go up,” he nodded, so Billy hurried over. A moving stand caught his eye, and he noticed Paul moving it up so it would be more uniform to the others. He shook his head with a smile and followed Ringo upstairs. They got closer and closer to Brian, who was still staring menacingly down at Billy. He swallowed and tried to go past him, but he felt a pit in his stomach as Brian’s hand caught his shoulder.

Ringo turned around. “C’mon, Eppy, we’re just looking  _ around _ .”

“Just let me take care of this, Ritchie,” Brian’s voice was low and smooth. 

“Take care of  _ what _ ?” Billy couldn’t stop his panicked words from coming out.

“Let us finish the tour, and then you can talk to him,” Ringo said. Brian hesitated before letting Billy go. Like a scared cat Billy fell in beside Ringo, his heart still pounding as they went inside the control room.

“What was he going to take care of?” Billy whispered.

“Don’t worry, he’s not going to bite your head off—” Ringo choked back his words, eyes flashing. “He’s not going to  _ hurt _ you. He just wants to talk to you, probably. Give you the low-down, y’know.”

Billy wasn’t entirely sure Ringo was telling the truth.

“Alright, here’s the control room,” Ringo said. “It’s pretty tight in here, so we don’t go up much. John gets claustrophobia, but it’s a nice place to go when you want some quiet.” Ringo sat down in a worn-looking chair, and Billy stood next to him. “This is where the big George sits. I mean, George Martin. Our producer...so you know he’s got some pretty big stuff going on, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” Billy mumbled. He could see the whole studio from up here. Past the expansive, confusing control panels, it was like a great field covered in light. How great it must be to hear music from here!

Ringo stood up and squeezed through to the door. “And...umm...I can’t really think of anything else to show you,” he said. “It’ll look different once we start to play again. But I know that won’t be for a while.” He sighed. Billy slowly stared up at Brian. “Alright, Eppy, take care of business.”

“Mr. Shears, if you would,” Brian nodded to a door behind him, which probably led outside the studio.

Billy could hardly stop his hands from shaking as he followed Brian outside into a cold hallway. Why were there so many doors all over the place? Brian went into one and sat down at a large desk. Billy sat across from him, holding his hands between his legs to stop them from quivering. Brian’s fingertips traced the top of the desk, and his eyes met Billy’s.

“Mr. Shears—”

“Oh, just Billy, please. Sorry.”

“ _ Billy _ ,” Brian said slowly. “I know you understand the gravity of the job you now possess. To be Paul McCartney, one of our most treasured bandmates, is no easy task.”

Billy just nodded.

Brian grabbed a pen and held it, not writing anything down, just holding it between his fingers. “I also know you understand who you might be working with...John, George, and Ringo, Martin, and me, predominantly.”

Billy nodded.

“But I need you to understand  _ this _ ,” Brian leaned in a bit closer. “I’m sure you’ve had loved ones die before. I’m sure you know the feelings they might bring.”

Billy nodded, but he wasn’t sure. His great half-aunt or something had died when he was thirteen. He was forced to attend the funeral, but he felt bad for not crying. So he thought of his sheepdog, Gaoth, dying, and that made him shed a few tears.

“Those three have been trying to deal with their grief for a month now, and you know it’s not going away anytime soon,” Brian said. “They all...especially John...have lost people, but this might hit one of the hardest.”

Billy nodded.

“All I ask is that you please be careful with them. I know this is terrifying and overwhelming and  _ big _ to you, but they are facing a mountain as you are staring at a molehill, feelings wise,” Brian said. He stared down at Billy’s still shaking hands and met his gaze. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I will not hurt you.” He blinked once and leaned back. “That is...if you do not hurt them.”

Billy’s hands finally stopped shaking. And he nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

“Not  _ swaggering _ , just...walking confidently,” Paul said with a sigh. Billy stopped, putting his hands on his hips. “You’ve got to bounce up a little bit with every step, sorta lanky-like.”

“How hard can walking like you be?” Billy muttered. 

Paul fell back onto the sofa pillows. “Pretty damn hard, if you’ve never done it before,” he said. “I mean, you’ve got the whole gait right, it’s just the little things.”

“Come back up here and show me. Maybe I can mirror you.”

“Fine,” Paul slid off the couch and stood next to Billy. He radiated cold air. “Okay. One...two...three.” 

Billy watched Paul’s hips and legs as he walked along, trying to do the same thing. But his own legs just kept relaying back to how they’d always walked, and he didn’t like that. He sighed as they got to the wall. “I don’t want to have to think about it every time I walk,” he grumbled.

“Sorry, but you signed up for this,” Paul said, falling back onto the armrest of the couch. “I mean...you don’t have to walk like me  _ all _ the time. Just when you’re in public. And now that we’re not touring anymore, that’s like zilch to nada.”

“No it isn’t,” Billy sighed. “What if I wanna go out somewhere? Like without the other three? Huh?”

Paul stared up at him for a while before bursting out in laughter. “Billy, don’t you know what you agreed to?” he said between cackling. “You pretty much just signed your life away.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Paul?”

“You know exactly what it means!”

“ _ Uuuughh _ …” Billy groaned as he slid down the wall. “You can’t be serious.” 

Paul slid off the couch, eyes wide. “Oh, I’m serious,” he said, crawling towards him. “I’m more serious than...than...oh, I dunno...Maxwell.”

Billy stared down at him, feeling more dead than Paul was. “Well, it would be helpful if someone...coulda told me,” he muttered. 

“They probably thought you inferred it.”

“True.”

Billy glanced outside. Rain was pouring from the skies in great sheets.  _ I don’t wanna do this.  _ He stood up and shut the curtains.  _ I don’t wanna do this. _ He turned around to look at Paul.  _ I really don’t wanna do this _ .

“Come on, Billy,” Paul held his arms out. “I don’t bite.”

“Not when you don’t want to.”

Paul sniffed. “Nice one.”

Billy crawled onto the couch beside Paul, staring at the black TV screen. “So how does it feel to be dead?” he said. 

“ _ Deadening _ ,” Paul replied snarkily.

“No, really.”

Paul shrugged. “I don’t know. Strange. It feels like there’s something missing. Something is definitely off, I guess,” he said. “It feels weird to be cold all the time. Like all the sun in the world couldn’t make it any better.”

Billy blinked at him. 

Paul sighed. “I don’t like feeling like I’m not there, either,” he went on. “Like today...I wanted to just scream and shout and sing but I couldn’t and no one noticed I was there. It’s like I don’t even matter all the sudden.”

“You matter,” Billy responded.

Paul shrugged. “Well...once you become  _ me _ , I won’t.”

“Well, you’ll matter to the people who know the truth.”

Paul stared up at him. “That’s...like...five people.”

“Six.”

“Still.” 

Paul leaned his head on his fist. “I wish I was heard, ‘s all,” he said. “But I don’t even know if I will end up appearing to John, George, or Ringo. I don’t know...it might be too risky.”

“Yeah,” Billy agreed, not wanting to comment on it. “I mean, it’s your choice.”

“I know.” Paul stared at the TV too before leaning over and turning it on.  _ I Dream of Jeannie _ was on. Paul stood up. “I’m gonna make dinner. Want anything specific?”

“No,” Billy answered. He watched as Paul floated over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He was probably only doing housekeeping because he felt like he needed a purpose. Just earlier, Billy plugged in the vacuum, and Paul practically snatched it out of his hands. He didn’t mind watching Paul clean the house if it helped him feel wanted. 

Billy wanted him to be there.

Smells of food filled the house as Billy slid off the couch. Paul turned over a Salsbury steak and stuck it back in the microwave. “Ever had this before?”

“Yeah,” Billy replied. “I grew up in the mountains. Had it a lot.”

Paul’s eyes lit up. “Mountains? Like...where?”

“Highlands,” Billy shrugged. “My family were all shepherds.”

“So you’ve never been in a big city before? Big star? Must be new to you.”

“Well, it’d be new to everyone,” Billy said as the microwave beeped. 

Paul laughed as he slid off the counter. “Got the bagpipes? The kilts?”

“Shut up,” Billy said. “No we don’t.”

“It’s the stereotype.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Got the wooden teeth? Fish and chips? ‘God Save the Queen!’”

“Ah, touché,” Paul smiled.

Billy sat down at Paul’s expansive dining table, sitting at the end surrounded by six empty seats. Paul pulled back a chair and sat down, brushing himself off. Billy noticed that was a habit of his...like he was trying to clean all the blood and dirt off of him. He took a bite of the steak and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“You ever had a girlfriend?” Paul said.

Billy met his gaze. “Yeah.”

“What’s her name?”

“Scarlet.”

“You still together?”

“What do you think?”

Paul laughed. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Why’d you break up? Did you cheat on her? Did she cheat on you?”

“Jeez, no,” Billy held up his hands. “Nobody cheated on anybody. We just didn’t have chemistry anymore.” He could still remember pulling back from a kiss with her. There was no light in her eyes anymore. But it didn’t hurt to think about it. “Is that the reason you broke up with all _ your  _ girlfriends?”

Paul shrugged. “No. Dot had a miscarriage.”

“That’s the only girlfriend you’ve ever had?”

“I had Jane,” Paul said. “But I’m dead.”

“True.”

Paul drummed his fingertips on the table. They made no sound. “I...uh...so.” he mumbled. Billy could tell he didn’t like the quiet. “Do you play any instruments? Like...y’know. Pre-Beatle?”

“Uh…” Billy shrugged. “I played the guitar a little bit. Just messing around.”

“Ah, what kind? Acoustic?”

“Mhm.”

“D’ya know how to read music?”

Billy shrugged again. “A little.”

Paul smiled. “Don’t try and get the others to learn how,” he said. “Once they figured out you could read music they were terribly stubborn. Didn’t want to do it. Neither did I, I guess.”

Billy took another bite. “D’ya eat like this?”

Paul stared at him. “What? No,” he said. “I sit up straight, at least.”

Billy did so.

Paul studied him. “Cross your legs,” he added. 

“Okay.”

“There you are. A real natural!” Paul’s face lit up. “And uh...don’t worry about bein’ too posh when you eat, ‘cause I can tell you I never was. Big, large bites, I guess. Shove it all down in the nick of time, before you have to get on set again.” His gaze drifted off, like he was reminiscing. He probably was.

“What was your favorite part about touring?” Billy said.

Paul didn’t look back at him. “Uh…” he murmured, not wanting to be pulled from his reverie yet. “Girls.”

“Girls?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Or...fans, I guess. The screaming. The attention.”

“Did you ever get tired of it?”

Paul blinked a few times. “Never.”


	5. Chapter 5

“One...two...three!”

Billy watched from the control room as John, George, and Ringo began to play. They were even more amazing in the studio than on record. Billy bought  _ A Hard Day’s Night _ when it came out, because everybody he knew was crazy about the Beatles. He listened to it, and thought they were pretty good, but his mother came home and took over the record player with Tchaivolsky. 

“Like ‘em?” George Martin said, looking over at Billy. He hadn’t said much. Billy could still feel Brian’s overwhelming presence in the back of the control room, arms crossed, head up to watch his band through the window. 

“They’re...they’re good,” Billy nodded. “Really good.”

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” Martin replied. “Not as much lately, but...still.”

Billy looked over at Brian’s unused chair, wondering if he could sit down, and then decided against it. He could see the cushion sagging just a bit; Paul was sitting there. He sighed in relief, glad to know he was still there.

“How do you like the boys?” Martin said.

“They’re all nice,” Billy answered. “Ringo especially. He’s tellin’ me the stuff I need to know. George and John are still wary to trust me, I think, but...hopefully I’ll get ‘em.”

“Yes, hopefully,” Martin sighed. “Those two know more about Paul than Ringo does. They sorta grew up with him.”

Billy stared down at George, whose mop of brown hair was hanging over his eyes as he played. “I don’t think George likes me.”

Martin leaned back. “Why d’ya say that?”

“He hasn’t said much.” Billy answered. “Well...neither has John, but...I mean...I don’t think John is used to the idea of me being here, or I don’t think he  _ wants _ to be used to it.”

“Yes, he was very close to Paul,” Martin replied. “It just takes time. You know, there’s a lot on his mind usually, and this just makes it worse.”

“Yeah.”

Martin tapped a pen on the control panels. “So...uh...you wanna go down there and try to play, or what?” His large bug eyes flitted up to meet Billy’s, and Billy swallowed, uncomfortable. 

“Umm. I guess so?”

Martin nodded. “Good. Go on down.”

Billy’s hands slid off the table. “But what if they get mad?”

Martin shrugged. “That’d be preposterous. They can’t get mad. You’re a Beatle now, after all,” he said. Billy felt a pit in his stomach as he moved to the studio door, pushing it open without staring back at Brian.

He glided down the staircase, feeling like he was walking on air.  _ Is this how it is to be Paul? _ he thought as he stopped at the bottom. The other three didn’t look up from their music. Billy couldn’t shake the thought that he wasn’t welcome.

“Well, go on!” Paul whispered in his ear.

Billy shrugged. “I don’t think they like me here.”

“They’ll let ya if you try,” Paul replied.

Billy closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine.”

He shuffled over and sat down on one of the speakers, very slowly and gently. He watched as George’s fingers slid expertly over the grid of his guitar, his strumming light and smooth. He watched himself carefully, trying to study himself. It was a strange thing.

Billy leaned in a bit.  _ How will I ever learn how to do that? _

“Don’t worry,” George said over the noise. 

“What?” Billy’s eyes lit up. 

“You won’t be playing this sort of stuff,” George answered without even faltering. “It’ll just be simple basslines from here.”

Billy swallowed. “Oh. Okay.”

“‘Ey, Geo,” John glanced up from the guitar. “Play that riff again.”

Billy shut his trap as George repeated the last few chords.

John came over and crouched next to him, trying to point out improvements. He blocked Billy’s view directly. It was like he wasn’t even there. But Billy tried not to be offended, remembering Brian’s words. He just waited till John moved back.

“Yeah, try it one more time,” John said finally. 

George did so.

John sighed. “Something isn’t right, I can’t pinpoint it.”

George stared up at him. “Well, sounds fine to me.” He looked over at Billy, waiting for his approval too. He stuttered a bit.

“U-uh...um...it sounds great,” Billy said. “Really grand.”

John scowled. “Well, don’t ask  _ him _ ,” he muttered, not even looking at Billy. “What does his opinion matter anyway?”

“John,  _ play nice _ ,” Martin’s voice came in through the control room microphone.

“Don’t give me that  _ bullshit! _ ” John glared up at him, fire in his eyes.

Billy lowered his head a bit. He knew this was a bad idea.

“ _ John, _ ” George stood up, letting his guitar hang off his shoulders. “You’ve got to let it go, son! Billy’s part of the band now, and his opinion  _ does _ matter, just like all of ours. Whether you like it or not!”

John stared at him for a long time, and Billy felt like something was building up. Then, in an instant, John’s fist met George’s face. Stumbling back, George fell onto Billy just in time as John stormed out like an angry bull.

Ringo came out from behind his drum kit. “Oh my god, are you alright?” Billy felt Brian whisk past him in pursuit of John. 

George sat against the speaker as Billy pulled his guitar off of him. There was a reddening bruise on his cheekbone. “Are you okay? Does it hurt any?” Billy said as Ringo came up beside them.

“Yeah, it hurts,” George winced. “Agh,  _ god, _ John.”

“Do we have any ice?” Billy looked up at Ringo. “Anything?”

“There might be some upstairs,” Ringo rushed off quickly as Billy studied the bruise on George’s face. He could hear Paul sigh from beside him, muttering about John and his stupidity. 

George sighed, rubbing his face as he hissed in pain. “Thanks for catching me,” he said, staring up at Billy. “Coulda been bad if you didn’t.”

“It’s okay,” Billy shrugged it off. “I was just returning the favor.”

George tried to smile.

\---

It felt like hours before the studio door finally clicked open again. They had managed to scrounge up some ice from one of the offices upstairs, and George was now gently holding it against his face as he, Billy and Ringo sat in silence. Brian came in first, expression unreadable, and then John followed him in. He looked disheveled and upset, but he immediately came over, reached down and hugged George. “I’ve been an ass,” he said tearfully. “I’m sorry, George…”

“It’s fine, Johnny, it’s fine,” George assured him, embracing him tighter. “I know.”

John sniveled, wet and loud. 

“I know.”

John pulled back, looking George straight in the eye. There were so many emotions mingling behind his golden-rimmed glasses, but he just sighed and stood up. “Got some ice, there…”

“Yeah,” George put it back up against his face. “I’ll have a real shiner for a week.”

John shrugged. “‘M sorry.”

“It’s alright, son.”

Brian stared over at John, arms crossed. “Well...what else do you have to say?” It was like a mother prodding her child.

John’s gaze flitted over to Billy’s in an instant. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Billy answered. He wanted to say so much more, but he kept it down. John wasn’t ready to open up to him yet, but Billy wasn’t quite sure he ever would be.


	6. Chapter 6

Paul twisted the dials on the radio, trying to get the channel to stay. A few fuzzy chords sounded from the criss-crossed speaker, and Paul nodded as music filled the house. “Yeah!” he said. “That’ll be swell, right?”

Billy switched off the TV. “What’s this for?” he sighed.

Paul twisted around and shook out his hair. “I’m gonna teach you how to dance.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “Oh, no. I’m  _ way _ too tired.”

Paul held out his arms. “What? Don’t be daft, Billy! It’ll be fun. Besides, you need it.”

Billy let his head fall back. His day had been exhausting, and he wanted to eat dinner, fall onto bed and die. Maybe then he’d want to dance. “Fine!” he sighed. “But only for a few minutes.”

“‘Ey,  _ there _ he is!” Paul said, turning around. “Well, c’mon, now. Follow me.”

Billy tried to mirror Paul’s incredibly boring dancing skills. “You’re not  _ doing _ anything,” he said. “Have you never gone to a club before? Thought you would have, big star.”

Paul looked slightly offended. “The only time I’ve ever been clubbin’ is when I’m playin’ the music,” he said. “But Dot liked to dance. She taught me some stuff. Never caught on.”

“D’ya jive any?” Billy prodded.

Paul laughed. “I  _ wish _ !”

It was quite fun, really, dancing around the flat as music made it swell with laughter. It wasn’t hard to dance like Paul, but Billy wished he could get his walk right before anything. But Paul didn’t even seem to care anymore...he was too caught up in his own world now, trying to grasp onto the shards of what might feel normal. 

As the song finally ended, Paul fell onto the couch, panting though he had no breath. “Goodness, I need to do that more often,” he said. “Get the kettle on, wouldja?”

“For you?”

“Yes,” Paul rolled his eyes.

Billy put the kettle on. “What’s for dinner, then?”

“Uhm...I don’t know, I didn’t think about it,” Paul said. He turned around on the couch, eyes lighting up. “Did you see that today? When John punched George?”

Billy nodded. “Yeah. It was...interesting.” 

Paul smiled. “It was building.”

“Indeed.” Billy looked up at him. “Do you think it’ll happen again?”

“Nah, John knows better.”

“You’d think he’d know better enough not to sock his best friend in the face.”

“Emotions ran high.”

Billy leaned back. “See, I  _ knew _ this was going to happen!” he said. “I’m going to ruin the whole dynamic. I can never be exactly like you, Paul, and that’s my downfall. Maybe you should just go back to the studio.”

“What? No,” Paul said adamantly. “I’m not going to. I’m not ready.”

“When  _ will _ you be ready? ‘Cause playing mother hen is gonna get tiring quick!” 

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “I  _ don’t _ do that.”

Billy put his hands in his pockets. “Well, seems like it.”

Paul grew significantly darker somehow. “I don’t!”

“It’s how you’re interpreted.” 

Paul crossed his arms. “I don’t want to be interpreted like that,” he said. “I just want to fade away!” And fade away he did, right before Billy’s eyes. But he was getting used to Paul’s ghost antics. He was very hormonal, like a pubescent girl. One moment he just wanted to be seen, the next he wanted to disappear. Billy took the kettle off the stove and poured a cup of tea, setting it in the middle of the table and waiting for Paul to come around. 

He sat down across from the cup, putting his head between his hands and blowing a long breath out. “You gonna come around? I made this tea just for you,” he said to no response. “C’mon, Paul, I didn’t mean to make you mad. Be like George and get over it.” 

Nothing. 

Billy stood up and grabbed his coat off the hanger. “Well, I’m going for a walk. Drink that tea if you want,” he announced, “but it’s getting cold.”

He opened the door and left. 

It was cold outside, and old snow littered the ground. But it was nice without any people. Billy could see his breath in front of him. He wondered if Paul was nearby, but he knew looking around wouldn’t do much. He didn’t know where he was going, but his legs (still trying to adjust to walking like Paul) were taking him somewhere very direct and specific. He didn’t know where that was.

“Well, c’mon, Paul,” he started talking. “Deck it all out. Lay it on me. Yell, scream. I don’t care what you do.” He shivered. “I’ve been yelled at through this past week, I’m used to it. Don’t be shy,  _ Macca _ .”

The wind howled from behind him, pushing him along. 

“I heard that’s what they call you!” Billy tilted his head to the dark sky. “Not like anyone told me  _ directly. _ They don’t give a shit about me there. They don’t want me there. I have to hear everything through the grapevine, I guess...if that’s what they say.”

It grew quiet, and Billy stopped. “I’m starting to wonder if anyone cares.”

Then, very slowly, Paul came into view. He looked tired, and dismal. He didn’t argue with Billy’s last claim, though. “We’re going to the studio,” was all he said before taking off. Billy sighed and followed.


	7. Chapter 7

Paul busted through the front door. “Hit the lights,” he called as Billy flicked on the lightswitch. Only one light came on, and it gave the studio a haunted feeling. Well. Paul moved straight to the back of the room and grabbed a guitar from its stand as Billy stood in the center of the studio, hands still in his pockets. “What?”

Paul sat down on a stool and gave the guitar to Billy. He slung it over his shoulders. “Come here,” he said. Billy stood in front of him. “What?”

Paul stared down at him for a while. “I’m going to teach you how to play.”

Billy blinked. “What?”

“Yes,” Paul said immediately. “Hands on the fretboard, like this, other by the strings, ‘kay? Here you go.” He situated Billy’s fingers over some random crosses. “Here’s E major, ready? Strum.”

Billy strummed. It came out nice and clear. “I already know how to play the acoustic.”

Paul sat down again. “When was the last time you played?”

Billy’s face grew warm. “Two years ago...ish.”

“Well,  _ ish _ isn’t going to do it for us,” Paul said. “If you want them to give a shit about you, you’ve got to learn to do as they do.”

Billy strummed the chord again.

By the end of the night he had learned four chords, and he was secretly pretty proud of himself. Paul was still staggeringly silent, but Billy knew he was probably trying to untangle the knot of emotions inside of him. By the time they got home, Billy was tired of quiet. “Listen, Paul. I’m sorry, okay?” he said.

Paul leaned his hand on the couch. “No, it was me.”

“It was me, I pushed you,” Billy said. “I don’t know how it is to be dead.”

Paul winced, barely. “I don’t know how it is to figure out a whole new life.”

Billy went over to him. “Paul, I need you. And I don’t want you to feel unwanted or uncared about,” he said. Apologies were never his strong suit. He always seemed too aggressive. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Paul shrugged and nodded. “Okay, okay, you’re forgiven.” There was a glint in his eye, and he smiled. “Well...halfway.”

Billy scowled. “What do I have to do to make it  _ full _ way?”

Paul grabbed his hand and turned him around. “Dance with me!”


	8. Chapter 8

“D’ya like it, Geo?” Billy stared up at George, who was standing over him early the next morning. There was a bruise on his face now, but it didn’t seem to be bothering him much anymore.

“How did you learn those chords?” George said. “Did John teach ‘em to you?”

Billy shrugged. “I—I knew them already.”

“Really? Why didn’t you tell us?” George asked.

Billy shrugged again. “Just...n-never had the time.”

“You had the whole day yesterday.”

“I—”

George turned his gaze onto Billy, and it was surprisingly cold. “Communication is key, now,” he said. “If there’s anything else you know, tell us, alright? Because we haven’t been doing much to teach you, and we need to know what you already know.”

Billy was paralyzed for a moment. “Uh...okay.”

George stayed relatively quiet after that, fixing wires and things. Billy kept strumming the same notes, in different orders and volumes. He didn’t want to seem too pretentious with it by making a melody, but he didn’t want to sound annoying either. Vaguely, he wished Paul had taught him more the night before. 

“Where’s John, then?” Billy said after an hour or so went by. 

“I don’t know,” George said. “He’s never on time.”

“Weren’t we supposed to be here at 8?”

“Yeah,” George answered. “But if I say 8, he thinks 8:30. If I say 8:30, he thinks 9.”

“Why?”

“Just the way his mind works. But he knows we don’t care enough to get mad,” George said. “Well, usually. If he knows it’s something important, he’ll come on time.”

“Shouldn’t it always be important?” Billy said. “It’s your job, anyways…”

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Billy went back to strumming. Another hour passed.

“Where is he? It’s 10:00,” he said.

“Where’s anyone?” George tried to hide the worry in his voice.

Billy scowled. “I’m going to find him.”

George turned to look at him. “What?”

“I saw his car pull in.” Lie. 

“‘Kay.”

Billy left the studio in haste as Paul appeared from beside him. “I know where he is,” he said urgently.

“Yeah? Where’s that?”

“On the roof.”

Billy stopped. “The roof?”

“Yeah.”

“How am I supposed to get up there?” 

Paul nodded. “I’ll take you.” He weaved around to a dark hallway and up a thousand winding stairs. Paul wasn’t sure if they’d ever get to the top. No wonder John had taken so long. “C’mon, Billy. Not long now!”

Billy’s legs were burning by the time they finally climbed the last stair. There was a door there, and that was it. Just a door. Billy tried to open it. “Locked,  _ shit _ ,” he hissed, stepping back. “How’d he get up here?”

“He’s got a key,” Paul sighed. “Do you?”

“I don’t have a key, Paul.”

“Okay, well...knock, then,” Paul shrugged. “Try and pretend like you’re the cleaning crew or something.” He paused. “Don’t give me that look, anything’s fit to try.”

“Fine,” Billy sighed. He felt like he was made of metal as he reached up to knock on the door. “Cl— _ oh, _ god. Cleaning crew?”

There was nothing from the other end.

“Well, we did all we could,” Billy turned around and began to go downstairs. 

“Hold on, hold  _ on _ ,” Paul grabbed him back. “Giving up so soon?”

“Yes,” Billy stared up at him. “I’m not messing with John, okay? Based on what happened yesterday, I don’t really think he’s fit to have... _ emotional advice _ .”

“I do,” Paul replied. “Trust me, I’ll just tell you what to say.”

“Well, you can’t tell me what to say if he’s not going to  _ answer the _ —”

The door flew open. Billy, startled, turned around, and Paul faded in an instant. He was getting pretty good at that. “You’re not the cleaning crew,” was all John said before opening the door a little wider. Billy hesitated.

“We were wondering where you went.”

“Well, you’ve found me.”

“I guess I have.”

John looked over his shoulder. “Well, come on out. It’s nice.”

“It’s halfway to raining.”

“We all have different mindsets, Shears.”

Billy followed him out. The pale gray sky was blotched with darker clouds, and the slight smell of incoming rain flew through the wind. John climbed up onto a higher wall and sat down. Billy just stood by the door, wondering what was the least  _ piss-off-able _ way he could ask John to come downstairs. 

“So...uh...do you come up here often?”

John didn’t answer him for a while. “Nah. Y’know. Don’t wanna frame it like I wanna  _ jump off  _ or anything,” he said, gaze flitting down to the street below. Billy rocked on his heels and wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not.  _ I need you right about now, Paul… _

“You’re an interesting person,” he blurted and then immediately cursed himself.

John stared up at him. “D’ya think so?”

“A  _ little _ .”

“I get that a lot,” John shrugged. “Pretty sure it’s just because of...what happened.”

“What happened?”

“Yeah, y’know.”

Billy didn’t know. “Yeah.”

John ran a hand through his hair. “Are  _ you _ an interesting person?”

Billy laughed. “No. At least...I don’t  _ think  _ I am,” he said. 

“Everyone’s an interesting person,” John said. “If they want to be.”

“Sometimes it’s better not to be interesting…” Billy said. “Being bland makes you less...I dunno, likely to get hurt.”

“Well, you’ve got to be interesting now, Billy,” John said. “Luckily the job’s all up for you. You just have to learn, not...create. Well, you have to create a little bit.”

“A little bit.”

Wind blew through, and Billy shivered. “So...uh...you gonna come down soon?”

“God, always ready for the next thing, huh?” John said. “Is that  _ you _ ?”

“You might be interesting, but you’re  _ strange _ .”

“ _ That’s _ more like it!” John threw back his head in a laugh. “I knew it was comin’.”

Billy shrugged. “I guess it is me, then,” he said. “I don’t like to sit around. Doesn’t make any sense to me.”

John stared at him for a while. “You’re like  _ him _ in that aspect, then.”

Billy’s gaze flitted up to him. “I am?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that...is that  _ good _ ?”

“The more alike, the better, I guess.”

Billy glanced back at the door. Inside seemed so inviting. “So...are you gonna come down? It’s probably 11 by now. You were supposed to be there at 8.”

“Bri doesn’t give a crap what time I come anymore.”

“Well, Brian might not, but George does.”

John had another one-sided staring match. “D’ya think he’s mad?”

“Not really,” Billy sighed. He wanted to go  _ inside. _ “It was coming.”

“I know, but I feel like—”

“We could talk about this inside.”

“Just...calm down a minute, Billy,” John held up his hand. “Can I get my thoughts out without immediately having to get up?”

“Sorry.”

It was John’s turn to sigh. “ _ Jeez. _ ”

“Are you mad?”

“Are  _ you _ mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Well, I’m not mad either.”

“Okay, so neither of us are mad,” Billy said. “That’s...that’s good. We’re making progress.” He sighed. “We need to  _ stop  _ being mad.”

“Is this a therapy session?”

“If you want it to be.”

John’s eyes sparked. “If you  _ want  _ it…I like that.”

“I like it too.”


	9. Chapter 9

Billy squirmed in his seat as he drove back to his flat. He’d just gotten some...less than desirable news. _Maxwell_ , the head of the MI5, had invited them to dinner the next day. The head of the MI5. The one who had scheduled this whole look-alike thing. Billy didn’t want to go.

“C’mon, it probably won’t be long,” Paul said from the seat beside him. “Just say what you’re supposed to say and get on with it.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Billy sighed.

“Y’know, you’re having a lovely time, you want to become more like Paul, you hope you can save the future of the band,” Paul rattled off. “What they’re expecting you to say, ‘s all.”

Billy sighed. “It’s nearly been a month since I joined the band, and I hardly know  _ anything _ about how to be you,” he said. “I’m not mad at them, but...the others aren’t being very helpful. I know they’re dealing with grief and all.”

“Yes, it’s very hard for them, but…” Paul sighed. “Are you hungry?”

“A little. Why?”

“Want to stop for dinner?”

Billy stared at him. “Why?”

“So you can practice being me in public.”

“What? But...I just said I hardly know anything.”

“That’s why I’ll be there,” Paul answered. “C’mon, don’t be scared. You’re going to have to do this eventually, I hope you realize that.”

Billy sighed, hitting his head against the headrest. “Fine!”

He stopped beside a small, quaint little Italian restaurant. It was purposefully wedged into the smallest place possible, and Billy didn’t say anything to Paul on the way in. The doorbell jingled as Billy pushed the door open. There was no one behind the counter, thankfully enough, so he sat down in the farthest spot away from it and pulled a menu over his face.

“What are you doing?” Paul hissed in his ear. “This isn’t practice.”

“Just gimme some time!” Billy whispered. 

“Time for what?”

“To figure out what I want to do!”

“Sir, are you ready to order?”

Startled, Billy threw down his menu and stared up at the waitress. She looked very unsettled, but her eyes lit up when she saw him. “Oh my god! You’re Paul McCartney. My little sister is your biggest fan!”

Billy swallowed with a smile. “Y-yeah,” he said, trying his best to sound like Paul.

The waitress tore a napkin from the dispenser and grabbed a pen from her apron. “Could you write her an autograph? Her name is Rose. She’ll be so happy I saw you!”

Billy froze. He had no idea what Paul’s signature looked like. Suddenly, he felt Paul’s invisible hand on his, guiding him along the napkin. Slowly but surely, he (or Paul?) wrote out:  _ Hi, Rose! -Paul McCartney _ . By the end of the -y Billy dropped the pen and tried not to sigh in relief.

“Thanks so much!” the waitress picked up the napkin and stuffed it in her pocket. She didn’t suspect a thing. “What would you like for dinner?”

Billy swallowed again. “I’ll just have two slices of pizza, please,” he said. 

The waitress smiled. “Not four?”

Billy forced himself to laugh.

“Okay, that’ll be right out!” the waitress turned around and practically ran back into the kitchen. Billy sighed, putting his head in his hands. “Thank  _ god _ .”

“We need to practice my signature,” Paul whispered from behind him. 

Soon she brought the food out, as there was no one else in the restaurant. She lingered by his table for a beat longer. “So...are you guys going to release anything soon? You haven’t done a thing since  _ Revolver _ a few months ago. Great album, fantastic. I thought the last song was a little weird though. How did you make it?”

“A magician never tells his secret,” Billy said, forcing a smile.

The waitress beamed, thankfully. “Ah, you’re great, just great! Will you ever tour again?” she said. “I really wanted to see you live but I never got the chance because of college and all that stuff.”

_ Finally, something I can say for sure,  _ Billy thought. “No, I don’t think we will anymore,” he said. “It’s gotten a little bit tiring, y’know. Our music’s gettin’ too complicated.”

The waitress looked disappointed. “Oh, alright. Maybe you’ll change your minds! Well, I’ll be the first to buy your new album, whatever it is!” she said. “Or maybe Rose will. Goodbye!”

“Bye,” Billy waved. “Oh, god. I thought she was never going to leave.”

“You did just fine, I don’t think she suspected anything,” Paul murmured.

“Can I take this home?” Billy said.

“Fine.”


	10. Chapter 10

Billy stared in the mirror as Paul pushed back and smoothed his hair down. “You look just fine,” he said. “I’m sure Maxwell will be satisfied with you, anyway. Do you think so?”

“Y-yeah, sure.” Billy pulled his sleeves down and rocked back and forth. This was the most nervous he had ever been, minus when he had to go in and be scrutinized by the Beatles. “I just want to get it over with.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll  _ wow  _ him!” Paul beamed. “Everything I taught you today will surely pay off, big star.” 

“Why d’ya call me that?”

“Because you’re a big star now. We both are. I’ve seen you call me that too.”

Billy shrugged. “I don’t like to think of myself as a big star. Yet.”

“Well, too bad. You’ve stepped up to the plate, now you need to hit the ball.”

Billy jumped as a car horn sounded from outside. 

“I mean, he’s got looks to go by alone,” Paul shrugged. “I’m sure that’ll be enough.”

“What if he asks me to do stuff like you, or...or something I don’t know?”

Paul smiled. “Just think of all the stuff we practiced today.”

Billy sighed, leaning back with a groan. He’d never been so nervous in his life. He felt Paul’s ice cold hand on his shoulder. “It's all right,” he said. “I’ll be with you the whole time, just remember that, big star. Don’t mess up your hair.”

Billy jumped as a car horn sounded from outside. “That’s them,” he got up and then sat down. “Oh, god.”

“Hey, hey,” Paul grabbed his hand and pulled him to the door. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine, okay? It’s all right. I’ll be with you.”

Billy put his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. “O-okay…” He pushed the door open and was hit with a sharp wind in his face. A car was parked on the curb, and Billy could see John in the driver’s seat. George and Brian were in the back, Ringo sandwiched between them. Billy had to sit next to John. Feeling numb, he went over to the car and got in with a nervous sigh that he didn’t even try to hide.

“Worried?” John said, adjusting his glasses.

“Yeah,” Billy swallowed.

“So am I.”

Billy stifled a groan. 

Freezing rain started to pour as they drove, which quickly turned into sleet and then snow. Billy stared at the white flakes as they spun and danced down to the ground. George watched John’s driving with a careful eye as Billy played with a button on his jacket. He was terrified. He wanted to die.

It took about a half hour before they pulled up beside an inconspicuous dark building. John parked, and Ringo was the first to get out, then George, then Brian. Billy felt frozen. 

“Hey, you gonna come or what?” Ringo said with a reassuring smile.

“I don’t know if I can,” Billy muttered.

“Don’t worry,” Ringo said. “You’ll do fine.”

Billy sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. Snow pelted down on him as the five of them rushed up to the door. Brian rang the bell, a bottle of wine under his arm. “Now, I want all of you to be as polite as possible,” he said. “And don’t say anything stupid. This is the British Intelligence Agency. I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Give it a rest, Eppy, we’re not kids anymore,” John muttered. Just then, the door swung open to reveal a small, mousey woman with big brown eyes. 

“Hello,” she said with a curt nod. “Come in, come in.”

“Thank you,” Brian stepped in first, followed by the other four. Billy looked around; the place looked like a mansion, though it was a mansion squeezed into a townhouse-sized frame. He gazed up at the glittering chandelier, its golden crystals reflecting the light. Ringo nudged him in the side and he went on.

They eventually got to a small parlor, and Maxwell was standing to greet them. Billy had only seen him once before for a brief moment, but now he had a better look at him. His head was long and squarish, with receding gray-brown hair. His eyes were pale silver, and there were many crease lines on his face and his huge hands. He looked put together with a full-on suit and tie. “Hello, Mr. Epstein. Mr. Lennon, Harrison, hi, Mr. Starkey.” He nodded as his gaze passed over to Billy. “Hello again, Mr. Shears.”

Surprisingly, Billy didn’t clam up and shook Maxwell’s hand. “Hello.”

Maxwell sat down in a great red armchair and extended his arm. “Well, go ahead. Supper will be on in about twenty minutes,” he said. “I want to...speak with you all.”

Billy expected a snide remark from John, but instead he kept quiet as he sat down beside him on the sofa. He heard footsteps on the floor that seemed to come from no one; Paul was here. He sighed in relief.

“So, how have things been going?” Maxwell asked, taking a drag from his cigarette. Gray ribbons of smoke filled the air. John took the hint and lit his own. “Well, I hope?”

“Yes, just fine,” Brian leaned forward. “Billy has done very well so far.”

Maxwell glanced over at Billy. “That’s nice to hear. What have you learned?”

John, George and Ringo all snapped their gazes toward him, each one filled with a varying level of panic. They must have been realizing they hadn’t taught him anything. “Uh...well...I’ve learned a few guitar chords,” Billy said, heart pounding. “I’ve been practicing Paul’s signature and I know some things about him. It’s only a start, but…”

“That’s good, that’s good.” Maxwell said, relievingly. “Good for only a month.”

Billy swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Are you all getting along pretty well? No scuffles?”

John and George glanced at each other. “Not with Billy.”

“Oh? What’s that look for?” A twinge of a smile came to Maxwell’s face.

“Oh, nothing, they just had a little…argument,” Brian cut in. “It was nothing.”

Billy waved the smoke from John’s cigarette out of the way as Maxwell tilted his head. “Is this whole arrangement causing anger or frustration?” he said.

John, predictably, finally got a word in. “Well, how wouldn’t it?” he growled. “Our best friend just died to be replaced by someone else. We’d have to have emotions...we’re not just going to be all hunky-dory, now, are we?”

Maxwell stared at him for a long time. “I can understand that,” he said, though there was a hint of passive-aggressiveness in his voice. “I can. But try your best, alright?”

John shot him a glare that he didn’t see, luckily. “We can assure you that John doesn’t mean to be hostile,” Brian said. “He’s just...a little upset. We all are, surely. Paul’s death had a great impact on us.”

Maxwell didn’t regard that. “I assure you’ve all been keeping this secret.”

“Yes,” the five of them all said in unison. 

“Good,” Maxwell nodded, taking another drag. Billy kept having to wave all the smoke away, it was getting a little irritating. The only time people ever smoked around him was when his father was angry or upset, and even then his mother sent him outside to do it. But Billy was finding that nearly everybody in London smoked. He even saw Paul looking over at a pack of cigarettes back at home, wishing he could smoke some. Billy never saw the appeal of it. He shook his head, pulling himself from his reverie, and noticed Maxwell was looking at him. Billy’s eyes grew wide. Did he say something?

“You know,” Maxwell leaned back in his chair. There was a lot of leaning being done here. “Billy looks like Paul, definitely. But there’s just something off.”

Billy blinked. “There is?”

“Yes,” Maxwell said. “I was thinking...possibly...some of our surgeons at the headquarters could give you a little touch up. You know.”

“You mean like plastic surgery?” Ringo said. “For Billy?”

“Yes,” Maxwell turned to the person in question. “Well?”

Billy dug his fingernail into his palm. “W-Well…” He felt like he was going to pass out. Doctors, and more forwardly, needles, terrified him. He had to go to the doctor once for a toothache and it traumatized him. And now having surgery on his face. “Well...I…” 

He blinked a few times, trying to keep his head from swimming. They were all staring at him, waiting for his answer, but Billy knew he could not say no. “I…” he sighed. “Okay.”

“Very nice,” Maxwell nodded, like Billy had just done a trick he was trained to do. “I knew you’d say yes. But you didn’t really have another choice, ha!” His laugh was more like a bark. 

Billy wanted to crumble into little dusty pieces. He felt Paul’s hand on his shoulder and sighed shakily as the conversation turned to the weather. “C-could I use the restroom? Just before dinner gets on?” Billy said, trying to hide his whimper. 

Maxwell stared at him for a while. “Yes, of course,” he said. “It’s down the hall to the left.” Billy shot up from his seat and quickly turned the corner down the hallway. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and he let out a very quiet whine of terror. He slammed the door to the bathroom and pressed his back against it. “Oh, god.”

Paul came into view. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Surgery? Are you serious?” Billy slid down the wall and onto the ground. “I hate doctors. I hate knives, I hate needles…”

Paul gazed down at him, hands on his hips. “Well, you said yes now!”

“I didn’t have a choice, you heard him!”

“Just...it won’t be that bad, Billy,” Paul sighed. “You’ve gone to surgery before, right?”

“No,” Billy groaned, putting his hands over his face.

“Well...it’s not that bad!” Paul whispered. “They put you to sleep so you don’t feel a thing until you wake up.”

Billy parted his fingers and stared up at Paul. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Paul shook his head. 

“So it won’t hurt?”

“Well, it’ll hurt, but there’s medicati—”

“Oh, shit.”

Paul grabbed him and pulled him up, turning him around and facing him to the mirror. “Don’t freak out. Just don’t think about it!” he said, fixing Billy’s frazzled hair. “D’ya think any of your pain from that surgery will come close to what I felt? If I can brave through that, you can do this.”

Billy’s gaze was wild as he whirled around. “You didn’t brave it! You died!”

“Well…” Paul turned him back around. “Now, go on. Wash your face and go back out there. Dinner is on.”

Dinner was on.

Billy plopped down next to Ringo in the dining room, which was the biggest room in the house. There was a dining table as long as two horses with eight chairs. Billy sat down between Ringo and Maxwell, attempting to pretend like he didn’t just have a mental breakdown. 

“Looks good, Maxwell,” Brian commented as he scanned the meal. A massive cut of meat was in the center of the table, surrounded by steaming potatoes, salad, and peas. “You’ve really spoiled us.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be the first, ha!”

Billy flinched.

It was silent as the six of them began to eat. Billy didn’t know if he should start a conversation or wait for someone else to do it. His stomach was rejecting everything he tried to shove down there, and he shuddered as another slice of meat went down his throat. He was just too nervous.

All of the sudden Maxwell turned to stare at him. “Yes, yes,” he hummed, his nose about six inches from Billy’s. “Yes, we will need a touch up done. Make everything more...round, I suppose. Your first surgery will be on January 9th.”

“My first?” Billy said. “I’m going to have multiple?”

Maxwell nodded. “Well, yes,” he said, cutting into his meat. “We can’t do it all in one day. There’s just too much.”

Billy’s stomach groaned. “How many are there expected to be?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see.”

Billy felt hollow as his back hit the chair. He really needed Paul about now. He should have known this whole Beatle thing was going to be more than just learning how to play the guitar and walk like Paul. But it had to be this!

There was more small talk going around, and taking advantage of the noise, Ringo nudged Billy. “Hey,” he muttered. “Billy.”

“Yeah?” 

“You look sick.”

Billy glanced around. “W-well, I am,” he admitted.

Ringo tilted his head. “Oh, ‘cause of the surgery thing? It’ll be alright. I’ve gotten many a surgery before. Y’know I spent almost my whole childhood in a hospital.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “That’s terrible.”

Ringo, surprisingly enough, smiled. “Yeah, it sucked,” he said. “I missed a lot of school, but then I became a drummer, so it’s not like that meant anything.” He laughed, and it was a lot more comforting than Maxwell’s. “Anyways, surgeries aren’t the end of the world, y’know. Sure, they hurt a bit, but it doesn’t even matter in a month.”

Billy shifted in his seat. He tried to believe what Ringo said was true, but he couldn’t be sure until he experienced it for himself. 

As their plates were taken, Maxwell held up his glass of wine. “A toast,” he said, voice clear but gruff. “To you all...for being so well-behaved.”

“Well-behaved?” George muttered to John, who was scowling. 

But their glasses clinked anyway, and Billy could see his shaking as it touched Maxwell’s. The director stared at him for a while. “Good luck, Billy,” he said. There was no emotion in his voice. “Good luck.”


	11. Chapter 11

Billy had cried three times in his life. Although he was easily overwhelmed and upset, he overthought a lot of things, and his entire life was sprinkled with a hint of anxiety, he had only cried three times, just three.

His mother said he was a quiet baby. He had four siblings: his older brothers, Leroy and Domanic, and his two younger twin sisters, Maisie and Jean. He was sandwiched between the four of them, and somehow he must have known his parents were busy even from birth, so he didn’t make much of a fuss. The only time he ever cried as a baby was his first few moments of being born, and other than that it was just little grunts and coos. 

He went to school down in the little village by the valley. His parents had to provide for five children, and being shepherds and maids, they didn’t gain much money. All of Billy’s clothes (except for one pair of pants) were hand-me-downs. And the other children at school knew they were pretty poor. Billy was no stranger to being made fun of, and even though it secretly got under his skin, he could always put on a brave face and think of his fluffy sheepdog, Gaoth, at home whenever they teased.

But there was one boy, Harris, who was the biggest prick in the world. He came from England, where everyone seemed to be rich and famous. So one evening, Billy had to go home by himself, since both Leroy and Domanic were down with the flu. He was no stranger to climbing steep hills and windy terraces, but instead of going alone, Harris and his cronies followed him all the way back to his home. Gaoth came from his guarding position by the door and scampered over to them. Since Gaoth was a massive, protective dog, Billy secretly hoped he would scare the other boys away. 

He sure did try. Gaoth barked and snarled at them, even snapping at one boy’s leg. But Harris wasn’t taken aback. He made fun of Gaoth, pulling at his tail and his ears. As Billy tried to shove him away, Harris grabbed a shred of Gaoth’s gray-and-white fur, ripping it off with a terrific tearing noise. And that was when Billy burst into tears. At the sound of her son’s shrill sobs, his mother came out and shooed the boys away, holding Billy and Gaoth in her arms as they recovered from the bullying. After that, Billy was sent to the hills to shepherd for his family, and he enjoyed that a lot more. Sheep were nicer than people, and he got to spend his days with Gaoth. But that was the second time he’d ever cried.

And the third time was after Billy had moved down south into London. He was staying with a couple friends in their flat when he got a call from his mother. She sounded devastated and urgent. “Gaoth is dying,” she said into the phone, and Billy didn’t have to hear anything else. As soon as he could, he flew to Scotland to be with his dog in his final days. Everybody was upset, but Billy was the most by far. Gaoth was dying, and he couldn’t believe it. He spent every waking and sleeping moment with Gaoth, until one rainy evening he woke up to find the dog in his arms was cold and stiff. He was gone. That was the third time he’d ever cried, and it was harder than ever before. He stayed in Scotland for two months to recover from it, but every time he saw Gaoth’s nest of blankets and towels in the corner by the fireplace, it always hurt knowing his beloved pet...no, his beloved friend was gone and would never be returning. He had a hole in his heart that nothing could fill.

But now, back in late December 1966, Billy had a feeling the fourth time was on its way. Paul had sent him right to bed after they got home, and as he stared up at the ceiling (a favorite hobby of his), he could feel his face start to sting. Billy blinked hot tears away as he thought of surgery. It wasn’t only that, though...he just felt very overwhelmed. Very.

He rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow. He wanted to die. Why had he agreed to this stupid idea? He was going to be a Beatle? Why couldn’t Billy just be Billy, back in the green rolling hills of Scotland? What had gotten into him...pretending to be Paul McCartney? He never wanted to be a big star. 

He let out a shaky breath and sat up. Maybe...maybe if he hurried, he could still catch the next plane back to Scotland and forget this ever happened. He couldn’t do this. There was only two days till 1967 started. He had to leave and get out of here before his entire identity slipped away. Luckily, Billy only had a few belongings here, enough to fill a small duffel bag. He slid out of bed and padded over to the closet, quickly digging a few sweaters out. He tried to be quiet, hoping he wouldn’t alert Paul. 

Quickly zipping up his duffel bag, Billy put it over his shoulder and pulled on a sweater. If he wanted to do this, he needed to go. Now.

Very gently, he opened the door to his bedroom. He didn’t see Paul anywhere. Carrying his shoes along with him, he quietly inched along the wall until he got to the front door. Taking one last look at Paul’s flat, he left.

It was freezing outside, but Billy pushed through the wind and snow to get to his car. He opened the door and shoved his duffel bag in, going around to the other side and getting in the front seat. He took off immediately, pushing through the night to get to the closest airport. Thoughts of his old home in Scotland filled his head, and he sighed. Why had he ever left? 

Billy felt a chill as he swerved on the road. Readjusting his hands on the wheel, he took a deep breath. That was a close one. He rubbed his eyes and used his windshield wipers to get the snow off. His heart was pounding.  _ Should I stop? _ he thought, slowing significantly. He thought of his new home, and Paul looking out the window, wondering where he might be. Billy stared down at his lap. He was leaving Paul all by himself...with nowhere and no one to go to.

Suddenly, Billy heard the squeal of tires. He glanced up to see nothing but dark, and closing his eyes tight, he felt the car spin and turn before he landed front-first in a ditch. 

“Oh, shit…” Billy groaned as he opened his eyes again. The entire car was lopsided, and Billy’s head was pounding. He reached up to move his hair out of the way, and he glanced down to see dark blood on his fingertips. His stomach turned, and Billy felt dizzy. Was he dying? His breath caught in his throat, and he felt his head spin until everything went dark.


	12. Chapter 12

Billy awoke with a start, eyes wide as he blinked a few times. His head still hurt, but he could look around. He was in a white room by himself, and he could hear a sharp beeping from a machine beside him. There was an IV in his arm (thank god he didn’t have to be awake for that), and he could feel a bandage on his head. Sunlight streamed in through the window to the right of him, but other than that, everything else was quiet.

Billy groaned, rubbing his head. He’d gotten in a car wreck, that much was clear. He wondered if John, George, or Ringo knew. Or...Paul? God, he felt terrible. If Paul knew what had happened, he’d be pissed! Billy trying to abandon him without even letting him know why. Billy sniveled and fell back against his pillow. “God, Paul, I’m sorry,” he murmured, not knowing if Paul was even here. He felt tears come to his eyes and one slide down his cheek. Four. Four times.

Just then, a cold hand was on his shoulder again. Startled, Billy glanced up to see Paul, in all his ghostly splendor, standing over him with an unreadable expression. He was probably mad, and that made Billy even more upset. He was full-on sobbing now, and even more surprisingly, Paul weaved around him in a chilling hug. But it felt warmer than anything.

Billy finally calmed down and his sobbing was reduced to little sniffles. “I’m sorry,” he said again, voice broken. “I’m so sorry...god, I’m sorry…” 

Paul pulled back and stared at him. “I…” he started. “Why did you leave?”

Billy wiped his eyes. “B-because I didn’t want t-to be a Beatle,” Billy sniveled. “I didn’t want to d-do it...I’d r-rather be home in Sc-Scotland…”

Paul nodded briefly. “Okay.” He stood up and went to the window, staring out at the city. Billy watched him for a moment. 

“Are...are you mad?”

“I’m not mad,” Paul answered. “Just...puzzled.”

Billy wiped his eyes with a tissue from the bedside table. The IV in his arm stung, and he tried not to bend it. He didn’t know how to apologize to Paul, or even begin to say anything. He wanted to say so much, but...sorry didn’t really get it across.

“The others are coming to see you in two hours,” Paul said.

“Th-they are?”

“Yeah,” Paul still didn’t turn around to look at him. “Your crash is all over the papers.”

Billy winced. “Goddammit.”

Paul shrugged. “Don’t see why it’s such a big deal. Dylan wrecked once.”

Billy sighed. “I know...but...Dylan is Dylan. I...I'm a Beatle.”

“You are?”

Billy stayed quiet.

“Are you a Beatle?” Paul finally turned around. “Or are you some nothing, forgettable shepherd from Scotland who will never make a name for himself? Huh?”

Billy closed his eyes tight. “I am a Beatle.”

“You’re a what?”

“I’m a Beatle.”

“Who are you?” Paul urged him on. “Who  _ are _ you?”

Billy opened his eyes. “My name is Paul McCartney, and I am a Beatle!”


	13. Chapter 13

1967 felt like a breath of fresh air for Billy. He was ready to start a new life as Paul McCartney. He’d eat, sleep, talk, walk, dance, write, breathe as Paul, and he wasn’t going to back down from a challenge. At least, that’s what he told himself on the way into the studio.

“Now, pretend like the whole accident never happened, right?” said Paul as they were gliding up the stairs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You’re a lot more carefree nowadays.”

“Well, I’m trying.”

“You have surgery in eight days.”

Billy felt a punch in his gut. “Yes, I...yes, I know.”

Light glittered in Paul’s eyes. “Are you nervous?”

“I’m trying not to be.”

“You’re trying to do a lot of things.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

It was warmer inside the studios, and Billy was able to take off his coat. But he wasn’t expecting what was going on in Studio 2. Smoke filled the studio in hissing coils and made everything musty. Billy scowled. The Beatles were getting high. 

He waved the smoke out of his face as he sifted through it to find his bandmates. “Ritchie?” he called. “John? George?”

“I’m up here…” John drawled. Very high. Paul was even daring to reveal himself just a little bit, knowing he wouldn’t be seen in the unrealistically heavy fog. Billy looked up to see John perched on the windowsill, legs dangling down and hands leaning back. A cigarette hung out of his mouth.

“Wh-what are you doing up there?” Billy said.

“Watchin’ the sunrise, what does it look like?” John answered. He stared down at Billy. “C’mon up, it’s nice.”

“H-how would I even…?”

“The window opens.”

With a sigh of reluctance, Billy climbed up the stairs and went into the control room, opening the full-wall sized window. He slid out beside John, gulping at the height before sitting next to him, hugging his knees to his chest. “You can’t even see the sunrise up here,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, y’can...it’s right there,” John pointed to a blank wall.

“I can’t see it.”

John passed the cigarette over to Billy. “Take a drag, sir.”

Billy stared down at the end of the stick and took a drag, as instructed. He coughed a few times as he exhaled and glanced up at the wall John pointed at. “I don’t see anything,” he muttered. 

“Wait...just wait,” John looked excited.

Billy glared at him. “You’re just crazy, not high, ain’t you?”

John watched him for a moment, and then nodded. “ _ Now _ look.”

Billy turned to the wall, and surprisingly enough, the most astounding sunrise in the world was folded out in front of him. Rich reds, oranges, and pinks surrounded a bright sun, and Billy squinted, the light overwhelming him. “Holy shit.”

John grinned. “Ain’t it fantastic?”

Billy nodded. “I just...I’ve…”

“Never been high before?”

“No,” he answered. “But...is this what it’s like? Just with one smoke?”

“One to three, that’s right!”

Billy didn’t know why he was laughing, but he cackled. “H-how do you deal with it, y’know?” he said. “All this...all this...well.  _ You _ know.”

“ _ You  _ know!”

“Aha-ha-ha!” Billy laughed, but then he grabbed John’s arm. “Wait... _ wait _ .”

“What?” John rocked back and forth. “ _ What _ ?”

“What if Br-Brian finds us up here and uh…” Billy blinked a few times. “Gets mad?”

“Just give  _ him _ a drag, then,” John said. “Brian smokes, eh, doesn’t he?”

“He does?”

“He  _ does _ ?”

“Does he?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.”

“Wh-what about Geo?” Billy remembered. “Doesn’t he like... _ not _ like, I mean...doesn’t he  _ not like _ it when we...er...smoke?”

“George smokes the most out of  _ all _ of us.”

“He does?”

“Yes!”

“This is the most entertainin’...wait, d’you...where’s the other cigarette?”

John gave him another drag. 

“Oh, but...do you know…” Billy leaned forward. “That uh…” He blinked a few times, forgetting what he was going to say. “I forgot.”

“Ha!”

Billy giggled. “What is...what if we fall, I…”

John stared at him. “You’ll die.”

Billy stared down at the floor. “I...uh…” he mumbled. “That’s okay.”

“Ha! Now you’re not afraid of it.”

“I never  _ was. _ ”

“Liar.” 

“You’re the liar…”

“I am  _ not _ .”

“Ah, it’s going off now,” Billy leaned back. “D’ya think...uhm…” He blinked once. “I keep forgetting what I want to say.”

“Then  _ remember _ .”

Billy stared at him. “It’s not working.”

John let out another cackle. “How have you never done this before?” he said with a tilt of his head. “It’s the best, Billy, surely. You forget about  _ everything _ !”

“Everything?”

“ _ Everything _ .”

Billy ran a hand through his black hair. “Huh,” he said. He was coming back to reality now...it seemed only two drags was only enough to last him ten minutes. “It sucks being sober…”

John sniffed. “Ha! I’m still...I’m still seeing the...uh.” He stared at the wall again, where the fantastic sunrise was. Now there was a blank wall again. Billy slid off the windowsill and landed on the ground with no trouble. “C’mon down, we’ve gotta get ready for Martin and the others.”

John frowned. “Not yet.” He dropped a cigarette down to Billy. “C’mon, come back up here, they won’t be here for a long time.”

Billy stared down at the stick. “What about the roof?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah, y’know. The roof?”

“Okay.”

The staircase seemed a lot longer when you were high. Billy didn’t know if they were ever going to get up to the top. “So…” He put his hands in his pockets. “Still wanna go up there?”

John got to the first stair and then he was off. Billy watched him as he glided silently up each one like a great, broad-winged bird. “Are you gonna go up, then?”

Billy jumped as he whirled around to see Paul standing behind him.

“You  _ want _ me to? It’s so...high, though.”

Paul blinked once. “Come on, it’s entertaining watching you two try to communicate,” he said. “Besides, if John’s up there by himself, he’ll fall.”

“Or he’ll  _ jump _ .”

“Exactly.”

Billy threw his head back. “Fine!”

He was wheezing by the time he finally got up to the top. Outside there was a layer of fresh snow, and Billy peered up to see John perched on his usual wall. “Are you tired?” he called, though there was no noise for him to yell over.

John stared at him for half a minute. “No!”

Billy headed over and scrambled to the top of the wall. He leaned forward to see the vast London skyline, smoke pouring from chimneys and the white clouds stretching as far as he could see. “Wow.”

“Ain’t it  _ great _ ?” John grinned. “It’s...it’s even better than being high, nearly.”

“Nearly.”


	14. Chapter 14

Billy had covered three sheets of paper in Paul’s signature by now, but somehow it wasn’t good enough for him. “You’ve gotta swoop lower with the  _ y _ ,” Paul explained, demonstrating with the pen that was almost out of ink. “And then...flip up to the top like  _ that _ .”

“That’s what I’ve been  _ doing _ ,” Billy sighed. “It looks exactly like the picture.”

“Not to me!”

“Well every signature’s going to be  _ different _ .”

“I know, but it has to be  _ different _ and  _ right _ .”

Billy winced as the kettle shrieked from the kitchen. “I’ll get it!” Paul called as he floated over. Billy sighed, using the last corner of the paper to try one last time. But the small space he had made it look wonky and sideways. 

“How can I write like someone else?” he muttered, turning the paper over to try again. “You’ve got it, there we are. But I know he’s not gonna like it.”

Paul brought the tea in and set it down. “Don’t spill it,” he said. “Lower on the  _ y _ .”

“ _ Uugh… _ ” Billy slammed his head on the table. “Maybe you should just do it for me, you know, like we did for that waitress.”

“No. You need to know how to do it yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because I might not  _ be  _ there.”

“You’re  _ always _ there!”

“Not always. Not when you  _ left _ .”

Billy glanced up at him. “So now you’re going to gunnysack me? You said you wouldn’t. I already told you it was a mistake.”

There was a mischievous look in Paul’s glassy eyes. “I know, I know.”

“Not even the other three are talking about it.”

“They don’t want to think about it,” Paul explained, grabbing the pen again. “Or they’re talking about it...but not around  _ you _ .”

Billy swallowed. “Crap.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Paul answered. “That’s what I said.”

Billy turned around. “You were  _ there _ ?”

“I guess so.”

“Tell me what they said.” Billy stood up. “ _ Tell me _ .”

Paul smiled. “What do I get for it?”

“Nothing. Just tell me.”

Paul scowled. “Ah, there’s a catch, though.”

“No catch.”

“Fine.” Paul leaned back on the desk. “They said...well...they said they don’t trust you anymore. They don’t trust that you’ll...er... _ stay alive _ for long enough. Or you’re stupid for driving on icy roads.”

“They said I was  _ stupid _ ? There’s a thing called emotions.”

“Brian said that.”

“Brian was there?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“I know.”

Billy sat back down. “So…” he sighed. “They don’t trust me anymore.”

“That’s kind of what I said.”

“So what am I going to do now?” Billy stood back up again and began pacing. “I have to get their trust back. I have to...oh, I dunno.”

Paul crossed his arms. “So how are you going to do that, then?”

“I don’t know!” Billy huffed. “If they don’t trust me with anything…”

Paul looked over his nails. “Well, they’re paying for your surgery, so they’ve got to be serious, I guess.”

Billy groaned. “Yeah, but they could... _ postpone _ and then  _ fire _ me.”

“Hm,” Paul grunted. “Then I’d have to haunt someone  _ else _ ...urgh.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Exactly.”

There were a few moments of pensive silence as the two tried to come up with something. “What if…” Paul held out his hands. “Now, here me out here, right, okay? What if they’re not that worried about it? It was a one-time thing, and you’ve shown to be a pretty trustworthy person afterwards.”

Billy stared over at him. “D’ya think?”

Paul nodded. “Yes.”

“But...can you spy on them again?” Billy said. “And report back to me what they say. Maybe I won’t have to worry as much anyway.”

Paul nodded again. “Okay.”

Billy fell back into his chair again and looked over at the pages upon pages of signatures he had accumulated. He felt sick again. His surgery was in four days, but...if the Beatles didn’t trust him enough to play his part...would he even have to do it? Billy hated conflicting emotions, but if he was going to be Paul and have his bandmates trust him, he would need Paul’s help. 


	15. Chapter 15

“Okay,” Paul slid out of the car and into the night air. “I’ll go in and listen. You go two blocks down and try to stay hidden till I come back, ‘kay?”

“Alright,” Billy nodded. Paul shut the door behind him and glided up the stairs and into the studio while Billy turned the car around. He stayed as close to the curb as he possibly could and turned his headlights off. There was a discarded box of cigarettes in the glove compartment...could he smoke them?

Billy worriedly fumbled around for a lighter before he found a cold, silver box sitting by the cigarettes. He put one in his mouth and tried a few times to light the edge before it finally lit up. He knew this wasn’t...whatever John had given him a few days back...but it would have to do. Billy had to keep from coughing as the smoke filled his lungs. He exhaled it. And coughed a few times.

His eyes were trained on the door to EMI, though. He was terrified of what the others would say about him this time (if they said anything at all), but he didn’t know if Paul was going to be entirely truthful about it either. He felt so  _ stupid. _ Why did he have to go off driving that night…? Why couldn’t he have just sat down and thought it through, or talked it over with Paul? Now he was paying the price for it, and the bill was pretty large.

He felt like he waited there for hours on end, smoking cigarette after cigarette until he finally decided to stop at his fifth. Smoke filled the car, and he rolled down a window to let it all out. But when it all cleared, Paul was sitting next to him.

“Agh!  _ God _ ,” Billy yelped. “Don’t do that!”

Paul smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought it would look gear.”

Billy started the car up. “It looked...it looked kinda gear.” He turned onto the street and began driving. “So what did they say?”

“ _ Seatbelt _ ,” Paul said sternly, and Billy buckled it. “Well, they didn’t say much, but...the outlook is a lot better now than it was the first time they talked.”

Billy sighed in relief. “Thank god,” he said. “What did they say, exactly?”

“Well...Ringo said he was excited for after your surgery, so you would look more like me,” Paul said. “And then Martin asked if they still wanted Billy after...y’know. What you did.”

Billy anticipated more.

“And then Ringo said that he did, quite passionately, too. John agreed, and so did George after a few minutes.” Paul said. “So...they still want you. But you’re going to need to earn their trust back, still.”

Billy sighed. Of course George was going to hesitate. “Okay,” he said. “That’s...that’s better than what I was expecting, I guess.” He sniffed. “What do you think I have to do? Take a big measure or wait a bit?”

“Wait a bit,” Paul replied after a moment of thought. “Just...till after the surgery.”

Billy sighed. “Alright.”

Paul put his hand on Billy’s arm. “It’s all right,” he said. “Just...take a breather, okay?”

Billy took a breather.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for needles/IVs in this chapter!

Breathers were not taken on the morning of January 9th, 1967.

Billy woke up at 5:00 in the morning, since his surgery was at 7. From the very moment he opened his eyes he was terrified. Today was the big day. The terrifically terrible day. And he did not want to do this. 

“Brian’s picking you up at 5:30,” Paul told him as he threw some worn clothes on the bed. “And then he’s taking you back when it’s over.”

“ _ Dammit _ ,” Billy groaned. “I don’t want to do this!”

“I know,” Paul answered. “But...you sorta need to, y’know.”

“Maybe we can send a Billy double to get it done.”

“ _ No _ .”

Billy got dressed and then moved into the bathroom to finish getting ready. “They said not to eat or drink anything before you go in,” Paul called from the kitchen. 

“Will you come with me?” Billy asked, disregarding his words.

“Of course I’ll come with you.”

Billy felt like he was going to pass out again, but he couldn’t get out of this. He had to be an adult about it. He sat at the empty kitchen table and watched the clock slowly tick to 5:15, then 5:20, then finally 5:30. Enough grueling minutes for him to reflect on his situation.

Brian knocked once, and that was it. But it rang through the whole flat. Billy nearly tripped as he sped down the stairs, Paul fading out of view beside him. He answered the door, and Brian was standing there under the awning as snow fell out behind him. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” Billy answered. 

Brian stood there, looking him over. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Brian nodded to his car. “Come on.”

Billy padded out through the snow and got in Brian’s warm car. At least it wasn’t ice-cold, like he was expecting. Brian got in and turned the radio on, but didn’t say anything for a good twenty minutes before commercials came on and he turned it down. “The Who’s doing well lately,” he said. “I’m sure they’re selling well at NEMS.”

“NEMS?” Billy repeated.

Brian nodded. “My store. I owned it before I managed the Beatles.”

Billy sat back. “Do you miss it?”

Brian shrugged. “Occasionally. I had friends there that I appreciated,” he said. “But...oh, boy. Managing the Beatles has been quite a ride. I’ve gotten farther here than I ever would have at NEMS. But sometimes I want a quiet life more than...this.”

Billy stayed quiet for a moment. “What’s...what’s ‘this’?”

Brian ran a hand through his dark hair. “Paul only died because he was famous.”

Billy’s stomach dropped, and he didn’t say anything else after that. He knew it was true. The circumstances… He looked over at Brian, who seemed distant now. Now that the Beatles had stopped touring, he probably didn’t know what to do anymore. What was there to manage except for...Billy’s stuff? The traces of guilt circulated in Billy’s stomach, and he grabbed it. 

It hardly felt like any time at all before they finally pulled up beside a dimly-lit building. “Here we are,” Brian sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt. Billy felt an anchor in his feet, and he swallowed as terror gripped him with an ice cold. He was not ready for this.

He went inside anyway.

It wasn’t a conventional hospital, as it looked more like an underground bunker. Brian seemed to know where to go, though, as they passed through dark hallways which only added to Billy’s worries. “Have you been here before?” he murmured.

Brian nodded briefly. “I don’t know why, but Maxwell takes a... _ special _ ...interest in me. He wants to show me everything,” he said. “I think he wants me to work for him.”

Billy’s eyes flashed. 

Brian finally turned into one room, which looked a bit more regular. A woman sat behind a desk, her glasses about to slide off her nose. “Hello,” Brian said. “We’re here for some...cosmetic surgery.”

The woman stared at them disdainfully before scribbling something down on a notepad. “Sit down,” she said, her voice awfully nasally. “They’ll be with you in a moment.”

Brian sat down in one of the chairs lined up against the wall, Billy very slowly doing the same. Brian seemed to notice he was terrified, but Billy wasn’t hiding it very well. “Don’t worry,” he said, flipping through a book he’d brought. “I’ll drive you home.”

Just then, an unfriendly-looking man in a white coat opened the door. “Billy Shears?”

Billy glanced up, not saying a word. Brian did it for him. “Here.”

The doctor’s icy gaze penetrated Billy’s very soul. “Come.”

He shuffled down behind the doctor, his heart pounding so loud he was sure all of London could hear it. They turned into another random room. “Sit down here. We’ll induce some sleeping drugs and you’ll be out like a light.”

Billy swallowed. “H-how will you...induce them?”

The doctor put some gloves on. “IV, how else?”

“Dammit,” Billy hissed. 

“Why?” The doctor looked amused. “Do you not like needles?”

Billy shrugged and shook his head. “N-not particularly.”

“Well, it won’t take long,” the doctor said. He went over to Billy, roughly pulled up his sweater sleeve, and began wiping his arm down with a cold wipe. Billy closed his eyes tight and felt Paul’s hand on top of his.  _ Dammitdammitdammit… _

“Alright, I’ll be putting it in now,” the doctor proclaimed to Billy’s annoyance. He winced as a very sharp, uncomfortable pain severed his arm, and stifled a groan to the best of his ability. “It’s in.”

“Thank god,” Billy sighed. He waited for the aching to subside. “Ouch.”

“The drugs should be coming on in a few moments,” the doctor replied. “In this surgery we’ll be reconstructing your chin, you know, flattening it a little bit and making it more round, as it juts out and we don’t want that.”

Billy nodded, blinking sleepily. Fortunately, the drugs were starting to kick in, and Billy felt...warm, oddly enough. Before long his eyes were closed and he was out.

“So how long will he be like this for?”

“About an hour or two, then he’ll start brightening up.”

Billy blinked a few times, opening his eyes a bit wider. The world was starting to come back to him after hours of darkness. He felt dizzy and unstable. “Wha…” He squinted, looking up at the two figures over him. One was Brian. _ Ah, I know that guy. _ And the other was...the...doctor, he thought.  _ I think I know that guy. _

Billy looked down at his arms. He was in a wheelchair, which probably explained why he was so short compared to everyone else. His sleeves were pulled back down. He kept trying to open his eyes wider, but nothing happened. Huh. 

Just then Brian’s face appeared in front of his, and Billy pulled his head back. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Brian said. “You alright?”

“Yeah...I...I  _ think _ so.” Billy looked around.  _ Where’s Paul _ ? “Are  _ you _ alright?”

Brian smiled. “Yes, I’m just fine,” he said, glancing back up at the doctor. “I think he’ll be okay. I’ll follow your directions. Ta.”

“Farewell,” the doctor nodded, and Brian came around the back of the chair. All of the sudden, Billy was moving. He looked over his shoulder at Brian for a while, trying to figure out how that might be happening. Brian stared down at him for a while, not saying a word.

They got back up to the car. It wasn’t snowing anymore, thankfully. Brian’s surprising strength was used to hoist Billy up into the front seat of the car, and then after putting the chair in the trunk, Brian came back around to the driver’s seat. And they were off.

Billy was starting to come to a little bit better now. “Wow,” he murmured.

“What’s  _ wow _ ?” Brian said dully.

“I think I just…” Billy rubbed his eyes and leaned back to see himself in the rearview mirror. There was a massive bandage where his chin was, and Billy was surprised. “What happened to my face?”

“You had surgery, remember?”

Billy took a minute before nodding. “Ah, yeah.” He blinked a few times. “What does it look like, then?”

“I don’t know yet,” Brian answered. “We have to wait a few weeks to take off your bandages.”

“Aww, shoot,” Billy sighed. “I wanted to see now.”

Brian had to keep from laughing. “Me too.”

“Where...where am I gonna go? Back to Paul’s place?”

“You mean  _ your _ place?”

“Y-yeah.”

“No, you’re going to stay with me at my house for a little bit while you recover.”

Billy paused. “I’ve never been to your house before.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“That’s...that’s a shame. I was hopin’ to see it.”

“Well, you’re going to. Want some music on?”

“Yeah.”

Brian turned on the radio and Billy drowned out in the song that was playing. He looked over the backseat to see if Paul might be there, and to his delight, Paul decided to reveal himself for about half a second before disappearing again. 

It didn’t take long before they pulled up to a tall townhouse at the end of the street. “Here we are,” Brian parked by the curb. “Do you need the chair or not?”

Billy opened the door and stood on shaky legs for a minute. “N-no, I think I’m good, thanks, Eppy.”

There was a glint in Brian’s eye. “You’re calling me Eppy, now, too.”

“Well, everyone else does it, so…” Billy trailed off and then his gaze snapped up to Brian’s. “Am I  _ allowed _ to?”

“Of course you’re allowed to.” A rare smile crossed Brian’s face. “Now, come on.”

The house was spick-and-span, which wasn’t surprising for Brian. “Upstairs, now. You’ll be in the guest bed.”

“What are the others doin’?” Billy very slowly followed Brian up the stairs. 

“They’re starting to record some tracks.”

“They  _ are _ ? Like what?”

“Like  _ Strawberry Fields Forever _ ,” replied Brian. “A good track.”

“Without me?”

“They’d…” Brian paused. “Rather let you rest up.”

Brian helped Billy settle into a massive bed in a massive room. Morning light made everything look so much brighter. “Here you go,” Brian nodded. “I’ll go down to make tea. Call me if you need anything.”

“‘Kay, thanks,” Billy called after him. The door shut, and Billy sighed, leaning back into the pillows. He was exhausted, but so energized at the same time. His chin was starting to ache a bit, but not so much that he couldn’t handle it.

“Well...it went well.”

Billy glanced up at the foot of the bed to see Paul standing there. “Yeah.”

“I was there the whole time, making sure they didn’t slip up,” Paul peered through the blinds. “That doctor was...a character. But it was a very quiet thing, like they were performing a ritual.”

“That’s weird,” Billy yawned. “Thanks for being there, though, M-Macca.”

Paul turned around, looking puzzled, and at first Billy thought he’d made a mistake. But Paul’s expression melted into a smile. “I always will be, Billy.”


	17. Chapter 17

The rest of the day was a combination of Billy sleeping, watching television, drinking heavily-watered-down tea, and then finally taking a pill for the pain. And then going to sleep at the grand finale. As Brian turned the lamp light out, Billy saw his silhouette ease down into the wicker chair by the door.

“You’re…” Billy trailed off. “You’re gonna stay?”

Brian nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “The doctor told me that I needed to watch you tonight...just in case anything bad happened. He said you could choke on your own spit.”

“Gross,” Billy scowled as he put his head down on the pillow.

“Yes, I know,” Brian answered. 

“So are you...uh...gonna stay here the whole night?”

“Probably.”

Billy normally would have felt uncomfortable about that, but for some odd reason having Brian’s presence felt safe. He closed his eyes and rolled over, trying not to let his chin touch anything. The bed was relatively comfortable, and he fell asleep soon.

Billy’s dreams usually consisted of Scotland, and shepherding. He stood on one of the top hills, letting the wind pass through his face as Gaoth sat next to him, tail wagging as usual. The sheep mingled down below, grazing and walking around. He took a deep sigh. This was his happy place. He sat down on a couple rocks as he rubbed Gaoth’s head. His dog turned around and began lapping at his face.

“Stop!” Billy laughed. “Gaoth, stop!” 

But the sheepdog kept going, moving down to Billy’s chin and then his neck. All of the sudden, Billy could feel no air flow, and he spluttered and coughed.  _ What the hell? _ Gaoth’s licking couldn’t have done that.  _ What… _

Suddenly, Billy woke up and grabbed his throat, trying to catch his breath. He was choking! He stumbled out of bed, throwing the covers back. Brian was asleep in the wicker chair, but Billy shook his arm as he coughed, but no noise came out.

In six agonizing seconds, Brian finally opened his eyes and blinked a couple times. “Billy—what—” Then his eyes grew wide. “Holy shit, you’re choking!”

As if Brian’s revelation might have dislodged Billy’s throat, he tried to gasp for air, but only got a few whispers. Brian stood up, grabbed him with his (if you would recall) surprising strength and began trying to push the air out of Billy’s lungs. Finally, with one magnificent push, Brian finally managed to get Billy to breathe again. 

“Oh, thank  _ god _ ,” Billy fell back onto the bed again, sides heaving as sweet, glorious air filled his lungs again. There were a few moments of panting from the both of them before Billy stared up at Brian. “Thanks.”

Brian nodded, too out of breath, and put his hands on his hips. “No…” he sighed. “No problem.”


	18. Chapter 18

Billy stood in front of the mirror, peering at his new face. He wasn’t entirely sure if it looked real. “I feel like there’s something wrong with it,” he said, glancing over at Paul. The two of them had been comparing appearances. “Like...I’ll be outed in a second.”

Paul looked suspicious. “Yeah, me too,” he said. “It’s too...red.”

“Well, it’s also healing.”

“Yeah, true.”

Paul stared over at him. “And also, my face was sorta wrecked in the crash.”

“So...I guess we should see what the others think?”

“Yeah.”

Billy stood up, brushing himself off. It was a habit he’d picked up from Paul. It had been a week since the surgery and the whole choking incident, and Billy was finally back in his flat. But the Beatles had been recording stuff, and he wanted to be a part of it. So today he was going in to show off (maybe) his new face and try to be a part of the Beatles, or whatever that meant. 

“I’m nervous they’ll think I look dumb,” Billy said as he buttoned up his shirt. “They’ll think I don’t even look like you.”

“No, they won’t,” Paul said, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed. “They’ll think you look exactly like me. Well, close to exactly. They’ll probably think you look fab, big star!”

Billy smiled. “Fab?”

“Gear, whatever you call it.”

Billy sighed, brushing back his hair. “I hope I don’t have a huge scar where they fixed it all, y’know? We’d never get past anyone then,” he said. “I don’t even know how we’re doing it now, really.”

“Well, I’ve been by the studio, and...uh…” Paul scratched his jawline. “They’re all starting to grow moustaches.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So if you needed to…”

Billy nodded. He was going to grow a moustache.

They drove over to the studio and pulled over. Paul sighed, lingering to get out of the car. “What’s wrong?” He ducked his head in below the top of the car. “Are you alright?”

Paul heaved a long sigh. “Yeah.”

“So...are you gonna…”

Paul very slowly slid out of the seat and onto the sidewalk. Billy came around. “You look very dismal today,” he pointed out.

Paul just stared at him for a while. “Yeah, I...I figured as much.”

“Why’s that?”

Another one-sided staring match. “I guess…” He averted his gaze. “I guess I just feel like…’cause you look more like me now...that I’m fading into the background even more.”

Billy paused for a moment. “You do?”

Paul nodded, rubbing his arm.

Billy tilted his head. “Well...I know you don’t wanna do this yet, but...when you’re  _ ready _ , why don’t you just appear to them?”

Paul’s gaze flitted up to his. “I dunno if it’s  _ time _ yet, though.”

“Okay, okay,” Billy nodded. “But...maybe you can start slow.” 

“Like how?”

“Like...appearing to one person, or two.” 

Paul looked nervous. “Do you think I can?” 

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Now…?”

“No, not  _ now _ ,” Billy said. “Well...not if you—you know what? It’s your choice, Paul. Just do whatever you want to do.”

Paul sighed shakily. “Okay, okay...fine.”

They went into the studio, and it looked so much different than it did a week ago. It was very, very dark, but there were strange lights everywhere, lava lamps and stroboscopes. Billy shared a glance with Paul, who was barely visible in the dark. “What the hell is  _ this  _ supposed to be?”

“I don’t know,” Paul murmured. “The lights weren’t out when I was in here last.”

Billy scowled. “Well...yeah.” He scanned the room for any of the other three. “John? George? Ritchie…?” There was no answer, just the flashing of white lights across the floor, and Billy was beginning to think they might have stolen away to the roof again. Not even Martin was in the pitch-black control room. He turned to Paul. “Well.”

“Well, indeed,” Paul said, putting his hands on his hips. “What do you wanna do?”

“I mean...I don’t want to  _ leave _ ,” Billy said begrudgingly. 

“Yeah.”

“But it doesn’t look like anyone’s here.”

Just then, Billy heard a particularly loud bump from the door to the room full of strange instruments. In an instant, Paul faded out. The door opened and someone spilled out, hissing a thousand curses. Billy went over to find John on the floor, staring up at him. “Uh...hey.”

“Hey,” John adjusted his round glasses.

“You gonna get up?”

John blinked once, very slowly. “It’s nice on the ground. You can see everything from a different angle, y’know?” 

“So you’re not gonna get up.”

John blinked again. “No.”

Billy sighed. “Where’s George and Ringo?”

John ran a hand through his messy auburn hair. “Er…” he grunted. “I think they’re...ah...in the control room.”

“Why would they be in there?”

John held out his hands. A cigarette perched between two of them. Billy scowled again.  _ Of course. _ “Hey, don’t…” John’s jaws parted in a fantastic yawn. “Uhm...don’t get pissed, Billy. I was just lookin’ for somethin’ in there. I dunno where they are.”

Billy took his chance and grabbed John’s hand, pulling him up. John did the rest of the work and finally stood, leaning against a stray music stand. “I thought you were getting serious about recording,” Billy muttered.

“We are,” John said. “We’ve already recorded three songs.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  _ Strawberry Fields Forever,  _ and the...er...the instrumentals for  _ Penny Lane _ and  _ When I’m Sixty-Four, _ yeah?”

“Why only the instrumentals?”

“Because you’re gonna sing on those.”

Billy’s eyes lit up. “What?!”

“Yeah,” John shrugged. “I can’t sing all the songs, y’know.”

Billy swallowed down his fear. “But I don’t sound like Paul...at  _ all _ .”

John yawned again. “I know,” he said, rubbing his eyes underneath his gold-rimmed glasses. “That’s why we’re gonna coach you, yeah?”

Billy was puzzled. “I...I don’t… _ now _ ?”

“Yeah, now, why not?” John nodded up to the control room. “Here ya are. Go on.”

Billy hiked up to the control room. He supposed he would have to learn how to sing like Paul at  _ some _ point. But he didn’t expect John being the one to teach him. Maybe it was better, though. John knew exactly how Paul sounded.

John didn’t flick the lights on when they went inside, though he did bring a lava lamp with him. Billy looked around and determined that George was sitting in Martin’s usual chair, his shoes up on the control panels as he strummed an acoustic guitar. He didn’t say a word as John and Billy came inside and sat down. John crouched down in front of a cabinet and skimmed through record after record before pulling out  _ Revolver. _ Billy gazed down at the detailed black and white drawing on the front of it. 

“Okay,” John sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette. He put the record on the player and positioned the needle on top of it. “This was our last album, and...eh...this is how he sounded before he died, right?” 

John skipped a few songs before he got to  _ Here, There, and Everywhere. _ Billy nodded as it started. He knew this one.

“Now, you can’t sound exactly like Paul, I know,” John said. “But...try.”

Billy sighed.  _ Great advice. _

As Paul’s crystal-clear voice rang through the control room, George stopped playing. Billy rocked back and forth to the soft beat of the melody, and his gaze slowly drifted to look over at John. He had very much zoned out at this point, and Billy could see the hollow look behind his caramel-colored eyes. It had only been two months since Paul died. The Beatles were still broken.

Billy tried to put his effort into studying Paul’s voice. It wasn’t terribly difficult to mirror, but it would take some work to get the finer details out. Billy kept looking back up at John. He was in another world now...he’d completely blocked out everything except  _ Paul. _

The song came to an end, and  _ She Said She Said _ started. John phased back into reality and took the needle off the record with a deep sigh. “So...d’ya think you can sing like that?”

“I think so…” Billy said. “But...I don’t know, I guess I just…”

John put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Ehh, don’t worry, son. You’ll do fine.”

Billy gave him a half-smile. “I guess.” He didn’t know if he and John had started a friendship yet, but that gave him a pretty good idea. 

They went back down again, and John opened the piano. “Here. I’ll sing the words, and then you do it after me, got it?” He put his fingers on the keys and squinted to see the sheet of words he’d put on the music stand. Then he pressed down and music filled the hollow little studio. Billy watched, slowly, as Paul appeared behind John, watching his every move. Based on the handwriting on the paper, Billy could see that Paul had written this before he died. “Penny... _ Lane _ there is a barber showin’ photographs…” John began to sing. “Of every head he’s had the pleasure to... _ know _ .” He glanced up at Billy. 

“Oh,” Billy cleared his throat and stared down at the paper. How would he be able to repeat back what John...John  _ Lennon _ ...had just sang to him? He glanced at Paul, who nodded in encouragement. Billy sighed and sang back to John, trying to sound as much like Paul as he could. “Penny Lane, there is a barber showing photographs...of every head he’s had the pleasure to know…” He trailed off and glanced down at John for approval. 

The Beatle nodded. “Yeah, you’ve…” He played a few chords. “That was pretty good for your first try, though.”

Billy smiled. “Thanks.”

John kept going. “And all the people that come and go, stop and say hello.”

Billy sang it back to him. His confidence was boosted a little higher now. 

“Good,” John nodded. He smiled. “What, is he teachin’ you how to do this or somethin’?”

Billy swallowed. “No,” he said, forcing a laugh. “That’s...that’s impossible.”


	19. Chapter 19

“I thought you were gonna show yourself today,” Billy said as he poured some tea later that night. They’d spent a whopping seven hours at the studio, much longer than Billy had ever stayed there before. He’d gotten only positive reactions from the other three Beatles, though, so he was feeling pretty good. “Wasn’t feeling it?”

Paul shrugged. He was dusting off the bookcase. “Not really,” he said. 

“Why not?” Billy said, sitting down on the sofa. 

“I don’t know.”

Billy took a sip of tea and shook his head. Paul was better at making tea than him. “So how’d you like my singing today?” he said. “Did you think it was alright?”

Paul scowled. “Don’t be coy with me, Billy. You know they all liked it.”

“Hey, I was just sayin’,” Billy shrugged. “Ringo said I looked more like you now.”

Paul was quiet for a while. “I know. I was there.”

Billy crossed his arms over the sofa pillows and put his head down on top of them. “Hey, listen. Just because I’m gettin’ to be a bit more like you doesn’t mean they’re forgetting about you, remember?” he said gently.

Paul had been dusting off the same book for five minutes. “I know.” 

Billy blinked. “Cat got your tongue today?”

“No.”

“Just in a bad mood?”

Paul set down the duster. “Just...leave me alone for a while, alright?” Billy watched, startled, as he moved to the door and went into the next room, shutting it gently behind him. He was puzzled. He hadn’t said anything  _ wrong _ , had he? Was Paul mad? Maybe he  _ was _ just in a bad mood. 

Billy finished his sub-par tea and washed the cup out in the kitchen sink. He went to heat up some leftovers in the microwave and sat down at the table by himself. He frequently glanced up and looked around, just to see if Paul might appear at any second and scare his wits out of him again. 

But as Billy finished his dinner and put the dishes on the counter, he couldn’t hear a thing. So he grabbed a book of the freshly-dusted shelf and retreated to the bedroom, getting under the blankets and beginning to read. Though he was still listening for Paul to come clean up his dishes like he usually did. 

Thirty minutes passed, and the dishes sat on the counter.

Thirty minutes turned into an hour. 

An hour turned into an hour and a half.

Billy finally set the book down and padded outside. The dishes were still sitting on the counter in the exact same spot. Billy sighed. He might as well go apologize for something he wasn’t even aware he did. “Paul?” he called as he weaved through the rooms around the flat. “Paul, are you around? I’m sorry for...whatever I did.” He gently opened the door to the last room Paul went into and looked around. Nobody was inside. “Paul?”

Nothing. Billy felt his skin crawl. He wasn’t used to a completely silent house. He wasn’t quite sure what was making him feel so nervous, but he was pretty confident that something wasn’t right here. “Paul, this isn’t very funny,” he muttered. “I don’t know what’s gotten you into a tizzy today, but...I can say that you’re being a little dramatic here.”

Absolutely nothing. Not even a creak. 

Billy fell onto the sofa again, running his hand through his hair. This wasn’t like Paul. Usually he would get up and yell at Billy if he was mad, not disappear. And even then, he would at least make a little noise, just to let everyone know he was there. Was it even possible that...something bad had happened to Paul?

Immediately Billy shoved that thought away. Paul was a ghost. Nobody except Billy even knew he was there! How could something bad have happened to him if he could disappear in a moment?  _ And _ he was already dead!

“Well...if you’re not going to come out now, I’m going to go look for you,” Billy announced. He stood up, went to the door, and grabbed his jacket off the coat hanger. “So...this is your chance, I guess.”

As expected, nothing happened. So Billy left.

It was terribly cold, as expected. But it was dark as well, so Paul could either be very visible or hardly at all. Billy could see his breath in front of him, billowing up in a cloud, and could hear the thin layer of snow crunch underneath his foot. There was a distant honking from many blocks over, but other than that it was silent. Billy didn’t know why he was getting so apprehensive about this. He shivered and went on.

_ See, this is the problem with being the only person who’s able to see Paul, _ Billy thought as he very slowly kept walking.  _ Then I can’t ask anyone where he’s gone off to.  _ He contemplated calling out to apologize again, but decided it wouldn’t do any good. It wasn’t long before he got to the end of the street. Looking both ways, Billy decided to go left. If he didn’t find anything there he’d go right. 

Billy felt a strong gust of wind against his face, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. Curse Paul for keeping him out in this weather! But he wasn’t going back inside. He had to show Paul that he cared about him and wouldn’t leave him like he did last time. 

Billy got to the end of an alleyway and decided to turn around. There was one flickering light over his head, and he was getting uncomfortable. He turned and began walking away. He kept expecting Paul to appear in front of him, but there was nothing still. 

Billy didn’t expect to be tackled, though. 

He fell to the cold ground with a grunt and immediately whirled around to face his attacker. His chin stung like it was on fire, but Billy persisted and used his legs to kick his attacker in the stomach. They fell back with a groan as Billy scrambled to get up, but the ice was too slippery. He had to resort to dragging himself away, and he stole a glance over his shoulder to see who it was.

He couldn’t see their face, but they were wearing a dark hood and loose clothes. Billy’s eyes grew wide as he spotted a silver knife in one of their gloves. His breath caught in his throat, and he finally managed to get himself up. But his attacker wasn’t going to let him get away. Billy took off and pelted through the streets. His heart was pounding and his lungs burned, but he kept running, fearing for his life. His gaze frantically searched the roads for anyone who might be able to help, but it was late and everyone was inside. Billy looked over his shoulder again. They were still running after him!

Billy picked up the pace. Were they ever going to slow down?! The mugger took a hold of their knife and swung it in Billy’s face, getting about two inches from his nose. A terrified scream fell from his throat as he tried to keep going. But all of the sudden he slipped on the ice and fell to the ground, skidding across the sidewalk and onto the street. “ _ Shit! _ ” he cried as he turned around, trying to get up again. His attacker approached him, still not revealing their face. Billy swallowed. He wildly tried to move as far away as he possibly could, but it wasn’t doing much. 

All of the sudden Billy felt the cold edge of the knife across his throat. Right in front of him his attacker stood, breathing heavily. Billy could see the flash of silver eyes underneath their hood, but that was it. “Don’t talk,” they panted, and Billy tried to catch their voice. “Don’t move. Stay where you are and don’t  _ think _ about telling anyone—”

Just then, like the grace of God, someone ran right into the mugger, throwing him to the ground. Billy stared up at whoever had rescued him and realized with a sigh of relief that it was Paul. “Come on!” he growled, pulling Billy up and pushing him along. “Go, go! Hurry back!”

Billy was still trying to catch his breath, but using his last few ounces of energy, he crawled to his feet and rushed off, stumbling through the streets blindly. By the time he finally got back to Wimpole Street, he could hardly stand. He leaned against his snow-coated car, letting his body breathe for a moment. Terror pulsed through him. What had just happened? Who had tackled him? How did Paul find them?

After about five minutes, Billy finally wandered to the doorway. He looked over his shoulder to see if Paul followed him.  _ Should I leave it open? _ Billy thought.  _ He did tell me to hurry back.  _ He sighed.  _ Sorry, Paul. I know you can pass through doors...so.  _ He very gently shut it and locked it. 

Billy didn’t know what to do after that. He was still terrified, expecting that shadowy figure to come slamming on his door any moment. He practically paced a hole in the floor. What was Paul doing out there? Was he okay? He had to be, right? Mind still numb from all the overwhelming emotions conflicting, Billy decided to go to bed. Somehow he felt like that was the right choice. He double-checked that the door was locked and then went up to bed. He didn’t even bother to get dressed, just fell onto the mattress and closed his eyes. The mugger’s words circled around in his head, repeating like a broken record.  _ Don’t talk, don’t move. Stay where you are and don’t think about telling anyone— _

Telling anyone what?

It was silent in his mind.

Telling anyone  _ what? _


	20. Chapter 20

Billy woke up with a start the next morning. His dreams had been tainted by nightmares about the mugger he’d just narrowly avoided. Billy rubbed his mop of hair and yawned, grateful to be back in the real world where that was all over. He heard something steaming outside, and with a grateful sigh he realized it was probably Paul cooking breakfast.

He dragged himself out of bed. Everything was sore from so much running the night before. Billy opened the bedroom door to see Paul cooking eggs in the kitchen. “Morning,” he said, without even having to look back. 

“Morning,” Billy replied. He went over to the stove and watched Paul cook. “Um…how about last night...right?”

Paul scooped an egg onto a plate. “Yes.”

“Thanks for rescuing me back there,” Billy said sincerely. “I probably would’ve been robbed...or kidnapped...or  _ killed _ without you.”

A flicker of a smile passed Paul’s face. “As per usual.”

Billy sighed in relief. “So you’re not mad at me?”

Paul glanced up at him. “Why would I be mad at you? You didn’t do anything.”

“I dunno...well...you disappeared last night. I thought you might have been pissed or something,” Billy shrugged, tracing his fingertip on the counter. “But...it’s good to know you’re not.”

Paul put another egg on top of the first. “You worry too much.”

Billy sighed again. “I know.” He stared at the counter before glancing up at Paul again. “Um...did you happen to see who that guy was?”

Paul tilted his head back and forth. “I saw his face, but I didn’t get a good look at it. It seemed like he was trying to cover it up,” he said. “But those silver eyes. Something about them...seemed familiar.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Paul shrugged, closing his eyes. “But anyway, I didn’t really care who it was. It was so much fun, I could punch him in the face as many times as I wanted and he couldn’t do a thing,” he laughed. “I’m sure that guy won’t come around here anymore.”

“Thanks...again. You saved my life back there.”

“I know.”


	21. Chapter 21

Billy forced himself to go into the studio again later that day, but he was way too sore to do anything but sit. “What the hell happened to  _ you _ ?” George grunted by the time Billy had settled down. He was untangling some cords by the speaker, an electric guitar around his shoulders. “You’ve got a bruise on your face.”

Billy sighed. “Last night was rough.”

“Why?”

“I was goin’ for a walk…” Billy began, skipping around the part about Paul, “to look for my keys ‘cause I dropped them on the way in, but then this guy came out and tried to mug me, I think. I...I got away, though.”  _ I won’t explain how. _

There was a glint of concern in George’s dark eyes, but it disappeared. “You should be a little more careful. Eppy wouldn’t like to hear about that.”

“Wouldn’t like to hear about  _ what _ ?”

Billy glanced up at the top of the stairs. Brian was standing there as usual, like a hawk surveying its territory. He marched down, gave a stern glance to John and Ringo (who were lighting each other’s cigarettes), and went promptly over to Billy. “You look rough,” he said. “What happened last night?”

Billy relayed the story again, with even less detail.

Brian peered down at him. “Someone tried to mug you?”

“Yea…”

“Did you get their face?”

Billy shook his head. “N-no, Eppy...sorry.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Y-yeah,” Billy mumbled. He then repeated what the mugger had said before. “But that’s all I got. Sorry…”

Brian sighed. “It’s...It's alright. But we should try and find out who they are.”

“Well...it was a man,” Billy replied. “He was pretty tall...taller than you. And there was a hood over his face, but he had piercingly silver eyes. They were really odd, I’ll tell you that.”

“Silver…?” Brian murmured back. He glanced up at the lights flickering across the studio, like he was this close to putting the puzzle pieces together. Just then, Martin bursted in, his coat over his shoulder.

“Alright, boys, we’ve got a lot of stuff to do today, so I don’t want any dilly-dallying.”

“And  _ there _ he is,” John said as Martin immediately began to ascend the staircase. “So what’re we doin’ today? Recording Billy’s vocals?”

“I don’t know if he can record,” Ringo said. “You know...with what happened.”

Billy shrugged. “I think I’ll be okay,” he replied. “I mean...I practiced enough yesterday. I mean...my neck wasn’t injured.”  _ But it could have been.  _

“We’ll just see how it goes,” Brian said. “I mean...are you feeling up to it?”

Billy nodded. “I mean...yeah, sure.”

Martin had assumed his position in the control room and adjusted the mic so it was closer to him. “Okay, can you all hear me?”

The five of them turned up to the window and nodded. “Yeah, you’re good.”

“Good,” Martin’s voice came in through the overhead speaker. “Well...I guess we’ll start with Billy’s vocals then.”

Billy didn’t know why he was nervous, but he could feel his face flush as some headphones were handed to him. “You’ll be goin’ over in the sound booth by Ringo’s drums,” Brian gestured toward the place in question. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

Billy attempted to remember what the words had been as the beginning of  _ When I’m Sixty-Four  _ came through his headphones. He sighed and rocked back and forth.  _ Here we go. _ Billy took a deep breath and before he knew it, he was singing. 

All he did was stare at the wall through the entire song. He was nervous about what the others would think. He didn’t want them not to like it. It felt like a half hour before the song was finally finished. 

Billy very slowly took off his headphones and glanced up at his bandmates. To his delight, they looked impressed. “Very nice,” Brian dipped his head in a nod. “Well done.”

Billy beamed. “Really?”

“Yeah, you sounded just like him!” Ringo smiled.

Billy’s confidence soared like a rocket. “I’m kind of shocked...after one day?” He couldn’t keep a full smile from coming to his face. “I guess I’m really comin’ into my own, huh?”

“Now, don’t get too self-assured,” John said immediately. “There’s still a lot of work to be done.” Billy saw the flash of hurt behind his eyes...he was a bit like Paul in the sense that he didn’t want him to be forgotten. Billy could understand that. He didn’t say anything more.

Afterwards, they recorded  _ Penny Lane. _ That one was a bit harder since Billy had to start singing immediately, and it took a few takes before he was finally ready. He was showered with more compliments after they were finished, but he tried not to let them all go to his head. After they’d finished recording vocals, George took to teaching Billy the first few notes to play bass.

Billy was surprised that he caught onto it so quickly. It wasn’t much different than the acoustic guitar, and it felt strange when the instrument vibrated with the low pitch of its notes. But it was a bit difficult to play it backwards, since Paul was left-handed and Billy wasn’t. George tried to be as helpful as possible.

As the clock turned to 3:30, John had disappeared again. Billy normally wouldn’t have batted an eye, since he usually left whenever he felt like it. But they had been looking for him to play the piano for a track, and he was nowhere to be found. 

“Alright. I’ll check the offices upstairs, Ritchie’ll check the bathrooms, George outside, and Billy the roof. Got it?” Brian instructed as he rounded them all together. “Alright. Meet back at 3:45 if you can’t find him.”

The four of them split up. Billy was a bit agitated that he had to go up to the roof again, especially since he was sore. But he knew where to look. As he began the hike up the stairs again, Paul slowly came into view.

“Thanks for going slow,” Billy panted. “It scares me when you just appear like  _ that _ .”

Paul smiled. “No problem. You’ve had too many scares recently.”

“Did you see John go anywhere?”

“No. I was watching you and Geo the whole time.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“I hope he’s not doing anything he’ll regret,” Billy said as he stopped to breathe. 

Paul shrugged. “He’s probably okay,” he said. “John is smart.”

“I hope he is.”

Billy checked the door to the roof when he finally got to the top. It was unlocked, strangely enough. Usually John didn’t like anyone coming up when he was already there. Billy gently pushed it open and was immediately blasted with icy wind. Stepping out into the cold, Billy glanced up at John’s usual wall. He was sitting there. As usual.

“We need you for a piano riff,” Billy said, not leaving the doorway. 

John didn’t look at him. 

_ Maybe he didn’t hear me. _ “We need you for a piano riff,” he repeated a bit louder.

John’s gaze was still on the skyline. Another breeze blew through, ruffling his shaggy auburn hair. Billy stifled another sigh and went over to him, heaving himself up onto the rough wall. His hands stung from rubbing on the concrete, and he rubbed them on his leather jacket. “Um...whatcha doin’?”

“What does it look like I’m doin’?”

Billy let himself relax a bit. It was still cold, but he could see why John liked it up here. You could sort of...rise above everything. It was quiet. You could clear your head. Go through the motions. Wash out the system. 

“Why are you tryin’ so hard?”

Billy was suddenly snapped back into reality. He glanced back at John, who was staring at him. “What—what does that mean?” Billy answered. “What is it supposed to mean?”

“Ever since you got here you’ve been so...so  _ nice _ ,” John said, eyes narrowed. Billy stared at him. What a peculiar accusation. “God, I’ve been the asshole of all assholes, but you don’t seem to  _ care. _ ”

Billy glanced down at his hands, not quite knowing what to say. “I just...I don’t want to say anything that would make you mad,” he mumbled. 

John’s gaze dropped. “So you’re scared of me.”

“No.”

“So you  _ pity _ me, is that it?”

Billy winced. “A little. How...how could I not, I mean—”

John’s sigh cut him off. He sounded tired.

“Do you...do you not want me to…?”

John closed his eyes. “I…” he trailed off. “I’m done with people pityin’ me.”

“But…” Billy was almost silent at this point. “But...it’s natural.”

John stood up all the sudden, standing on the wall and looking over the city below. Billy flinched, thinking he was about to leap off, but he just stood there, hands in his pockets. “Things have happened to me,” he said. “I've had it rough.”

“You have?”

“My father left us when I was two,” John said after a moment. “My mother Julia got pregnant and then had to give the baby up. Her entire family resented her for somethin’ she didn’t even do...they disowned her. An’ so my aunt Mimi took me to live with her and my uncle. Mimi didn’t let me see Julia...till my uncle died and my cousin Stan saw her at the funeral. I was eleven. He took me t’ see her. It was the first time I’d seen my own mother since I was...what...five?”

Billy lowered his head. Horrible.

“She taught me how to play the banjo,” John went on. “I had two younger half-sisters, Julia and Jackie. I loved ‘em...you know? I did. Julia was a life-saver. She distracted me from all the fightin’ and the headaches and the yellin’. I brought a band together, and we were...pretty good. As good as a couple teenagers with wooden instruments can be.” He glanced down to the street below. “And then Julia died.”

Billy’s eyes grew wide. “How…?”

“She was hit by a car on the way home from Mimi’s. They were finally on good terms...everything had finally worked itself out,” John’s voice was breaking like shattered glass. “And then she was gone.” He crouched down, back turned to Billy. 

He was horrified. That was awful. Then the realization slowly dawned on him...two of John’s loved one’s lives had been taken by cars. Death machines on wheels. “And now  _ he’s  _ gone,” John finally said. It sounded like it was taking all of his effort not to start sobbing. “Paul’s gone…he’s  _ dead,  _ and he’s left me alone…”

Billy didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but before he realized what he was doing he’d wrapped his arms around John and was now hugging him from behind. To his surprise, John did not move away or swat him off. They just sat there, on the roof of the studio, a moment of pure emotion as Billy realized he was slowly breaking John’s walls down. He heard quiet crying, and he knew John had finally surrendered. He sighed and closed his eyes. The fight was over.

Just then, a thick wind blew them from the front, and Billy glanced up. And there, right there, in all of his glorious  _ Paul- _ ness, the one and only Macca himself stood there, on the edge of the wall, staring down at the two of them with a smile. Billy pulled back with a gasp, and John’s head snapped up to follow his gaze. All three of them were frozen.  _ Is he really doing this now? _ Billy thought briefly.

“Hello, Johnny,” Paul said, beaming as his voice traveled clear through the winter air. “Long time no see, eh…?”

John sat there for a long, long time, just staring up speechlessly at his old writing partner. “Macca?” he finally breathed, like he wasn’t even sure this was real. 

Paul crouched down lower so they were face-to-face. “I’m not gone,” he said. “I never was. I’ve been here the whole time...you were never alone.”

John slowly glanced back at Billy. “I knew about this,” he admitted. “Paul’s been helping me become a Beatle. That’s how I already knew all that stuff from before. He’s been watching over you for months now.”

“You have?” John looked back at Paul. “The whole time?”

“Yes,” Paul nodded with a smile. He must have been relieved to finally have someone other than Billy hear him. “Yes, I have. I never  _ left _ .”

“Oh,  _ god _ , Paul...I missed you so much.” For a whopping second hug of the day Paul came in, but John seemed a lot more inclined to accept that one. Billy didn’t mind. After months of not being able to communicate they were finally reconciling. Those two had a bond that Billy would never even begin to understand. But he was relieved...now not only did John know Paul was okay, but he knew that Paul was there for him...and always had been. 


	22. Chapter 22

John and Paul had been sitting on the sofa watching television for a consecutive three hours now, and though Billy hadn’t minded it for a while, he was starting to miss having alone time with Paul. As the freezes of January melted into a slightly warmer February, Billy was settling a little bit better into his status as a Beatle. He had another surgery coming up in March that he wasn’t quite as worried about, though whenever he thought about it he still got a chill and he rushed to put it out of his mind.

The Beatles had made headway into recording  _ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, _ their new album. Every time Billy went into the studio, there would be more and more strange occurrences. Occasionally people from other bands would come in and hang out for a while, but Billy was always told to steer clear as much as possible when that happened. The closest he ever got to one of those other bands was when Mick Jagger called him over and put his arm around Billy’s shoulder for a solid twelve and a half minutes as he yammered on to Ringo about a new album the Rolling Stones were recording at the same time. Right after he was released Billy retreated up to the control room and stayed there until Mick left a while later.

Other than that, Paul had begun teaching Billy about the events of his life. It was usually over dinner or tea, but sometimes Paul would keep Billy up till 1 am going on and on about his school career. Billy had to take notes. Speaking of writing, his signature was… improving, but he still couldn’t get the flick off the -y right, according to Paul. Billy wasn’t sure it would ever be good enough for him. 

But anyhow, Billy was slowly transitioning from Shears to McCartney, and he surprised himself by being ecstatic about it. When he joined the Beatles in early November, he didn’t think he would ever get this far. But here he was, with Paul McCartney’s  _ ghost _ at his side. Even after all this time it still felt like a dream!

\---

“Are you two ever going to get up and do something productive?” Billy said as he sat on the armrest of the sofa. “You’ve been here the whole day.”

Paul looked mildly annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, we  _ will _ .”

John nodded, but he was halfway asleep anyway. This wasn’t the first time he’d crashed at the flat, though. He’d slept all the way through dinner, all the way through bass lessons, and somehow through Paul’s life stories, only waking up at the part where Paul called him an idiot. Billy noticed he was a very sleepy person. Paul told him it was because they hardly got  _ any _ rest when they were on tour. They’d probably have to sleep the rest of their lives to regain the rest they’d lost.

“It’s 6:00. We should start dinner.”

“I’m going to,” Paul replied.

Billy sighed and rounded the hallway to get to the kitchen. He started up the stove and pulled some potatoes out of the fridge, shutting it with his elbow. He could admit that he was a better cook than Paul, who just put everything in the microwave. He’d probably never learned how to  _ really _ cook, like the pros. 

Billy wasn’t a pro, though.

“What’s for dinner, mother?” John called from down the hall. 

Billy rolled his eyes with a smile. “Shut up.”

After a few minutes Paul finally floated in. “What’re you making?” he mumbled as he went over to the fridge and pulled it open. “Mashed potatoes?”

“Yeah,” Billy answered. 

Paul sighed, leaning against the counter. “I wish I could still eat things,” he said longingly. “Food is such a wonderful part of life...you living people need to appreciate it more.”

Billy was peeling the skin of the potatoes. “I think some of us enjoy it a bit more than others,” he said with a laugh. “So what would happen if you ate?”

“It would just fall right to the floor.”

Billy grimaced. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, I know,” Paul answered. “But at least I don’t feel hungry anymore. So I don’t need to eat.”

“What do you feel like? Full?”

Paul shrugged. “No,” he replied. “I just...don’t feel the need for food. I don’t need to sleep or drink or take a shower or anything. Remember? Because I don’t have a human body. That’s six feet under.”

“Y-yeah, I know,” Billy shuddered. “Y’know...when I’m dead, will you still be around?”

Paul paused. “I hope so.”

Billy watched as the brown potato skin fell into the sink. “Why do you stay here?” he said. He knew he was trodding on dangerous ground now, and he could feel the mood of the room falter. “Why...why don’t you move on?”

“I’ve already answered this before.”

“I know, but...really,” Billy murmured. “You said you wanted to make sure the Beatles were safe, I get that. But...I hope I’ve proved myself to  _ not _ be a lunatic.”

“So are you saying you want me to leave?”

“No, no,” Billy assured him. “Just wondering.”

Paul’s hollow gaze searched the floor. “I...uh,” he trailed off, beginning to rephrase. “I feel like it would be bad to leave you and John. I’d feel like a hypocrite.”

Billy scowled.  _ Thought you weren’t going to gunnysack me. _ “Yeah, but...don’t you want to see your mother again?” Billy said. Then it was silent for a while, and he knew he’d crossed the line there. Paul’s mother had died when he was fourteen of breast cancer, and it had been a bonding point between him and John. 

Paul let out a sigh, and it sounded like he’d been holding in his nonexistent breath for a while. Sometimes Billy would catch him “breathing” when he thought no one was watching...just another instance of him trying to feel  _ alive _ when every other aspect of his existence was so obviously dead. “I do want to see her,” Paul said. “But...I can wait a little bit longer. She’ll be there forever, and I can go whenever I want to. But I don’t know if I can come back to the...living world, I guess, after I leave.”

“After a while, though...won’t we get annoying?” Billy joked.

Paul laughed, relieved that the tension had released. “You’re already annoying.”

John finally made his way into the kitchen and sat down, rubbing his eyes. “Jeez, it’s bright in here. Turn down the lights a little, wouldja?” he said. His gaze flitted back and forth as he searched the room. “Got a cigarette?”

“No, we’re not filling this flat with  _ smoke _ ,” Billy replied. 

“What?” John leaned back and crossed his legs. “You’ve got to smoke eventually. It’s a part of being a Beatle.”

“Not a  _ necessary _ part,” Billy shot back. “I won’t have you smoking.”

“So I gotta go outside?”

“Just eat something,” Billy said as he added some pepper to the potatoes. “That’ll satisfy you, hopefully.”

John stared at the dish for a while, zoning out, and then shook his head. “Uhh...fine, but don’t give me too much, yeah?”

Billy cocked his head. “Why not?”

Paul’s eyes flashed with a knowing look. “Yeah, you’ll be alright, John.”

John barely shook his head. “No, I had a big lunch.”

“You had half an apple and peanut butter,” Paul scowled. Then he lowered his voice. “I thought you were done with all that. You’re fine.”

Billy stared down at the bowls he was filling, trying not to seem like he was listening. But he perked his ears to hear what the two of them were murmuring to each other. “I  _ am _ done,” John answered. “I just...I just don’t like feeling full, alright?”

“That doesn’t mean you have to…” Paul cut himself off and glanced over at Billy. Then he gave John a sharp glance, though there was concern behind it. “We’ll talk about it later.”

John gave him a stubborn frown before Billy passed a bowl over to him. It was filled relatively well, and he could tell John didn’t like it.  _ How strange, _ he thought.  _ What’s up with him and food? _

“Ah, yeah, there we are,” Billy hummed as the warm potatoes covered over his taste buds. “Don’t know why you wouldn’t want this, John. Mashed potatoes and heaven...what’s the difference?”

John was eating a lot slower, but he was doing it. “Yeah.” As soon as he spooned the last bite in he sprung up from his chair. “That was truly  _ scrumptious _ , Billy, never had anything better,” he said, putting on a voice as he passed the bowl over to Billy. 

“Want anything else?” Billy said as he turned on the sink faucet. “Me an’ Paul don’t really eat that much here. I don’t know if it’s different at your place.”

“No, no...I don’t eat much either,” John replied. He turned and stared out the window. Billy had a pretty good view of the city from the kitchen, and he could see the span of dotted stars across the sky. John stared at them for a while, humming absently, before standing up straighter. “That’s a good song,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Just came up with somethin’,” John said.

“Really?” Billy was surprised. “How do you just come up with songs on the fly like that?”

“Practice, I guess.”

“Well it’s got to be some sort of born talent.”

“Maybe it is,” John pushed his glasses up his nose. “I mean...I didn’t take a class and learn how to come up with songs. It just happens.” 

“It sounds difficult, though. Like it takes effort.”

“Well, go on. Hum something now. Something completely original...that’s not another song.”

Billy did so.

“Yeah, there y’are! Now fine-tune it and you’re there, yeah?”

“Really?” Billy glanced over at him. “It’s that easy?”

“Don’t know why this is so hard to believe,” Paul commented from beside him. He pushed in front of him to collect the potato skins from the sink. “I mean...we all do it. Even Ringo’s come up with songs before.”

“Yeah, with Geo’s help,” John snarked.

Paul shot him a glance. “Don’t be mean to Ritchie. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never done that before, Macca.”

“Death changes your view on things.”

John rolled his light brown eyes, but Billy knew he didn’t really mean it. “I can see past your smoke n’ mirrors,” he said with a snipe. “You’re just the same old Paul, aren’t you?”

“I’m not, really,” Paul said. “I’m the same in certain ways, but different in others. I can understand things better now...emotions, really. Thoughts.” Billy could tell he was trying not to seem too pretentious. “You should try it sometime.”

“What? Dying?” John laughed.

Paul gave him a sideways glance. “If that’s what it takes.”

“ _ Al _ right, well...time to change the subject,” Billy rushed to say. 

“What else is there to talk about?” Paul frowned.

“I don’t know. Tell me more about your life.”

“Where did we leave off?”

“You’d just kicked Pete out of the band.”

“Oh, right,” Paul nodded. “Well...Eppy was stuck with the task of booting Pete, because none of us wanted to do it. We knew it’d break Pete’s heart, either that or he’d be pissed at us. So we sent Brian to do it. We knew Pete was mad, or disappointed...since he didn’t call us or see us in a couple months. But anyway, the second Pete left we shoved Ringo right into his spot.

“Ringo was a sweet lad right from the start, yet we were scared of him,” Paul smiled, looking over at John. “He had that...y’know, typical greaser look...slicked up hair and a permanent glare. But once he got to know us, it slowly went away. We could tell that was just his harder exterior as supposed to his all-around personality. 

“He was a fantastic drummer, much better than Pete. He took our advice seriously instead of just brushing it off,” Paul went on. “Of course I was stuck rooming with him the first time we went on tour. But he was a nice guy. We yammered on the whole night. I—”

Just then, a loud bump was heard. Billy immediately flinched, thinking something was about to fall off the ceiling. “What the hell was that?” John looked irritated.

“It sounded like it was coming from the door,” Paul replied.

Billy could feel his face flush. Memories from the attack a week or so before flashed in his head, and he set the dish towel down as John went to go investigate. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Paul said. “It’s all right. It might have just been…” He trailed off, not knowing what would have made such a loud noise. “I don’t know. But it’s not something bad, alright?”

“You can  _ confirm _ that?”

Paul stayed quiet.

Very slowly, Billy made his way to the doorway, poking his head out from the side. Paul followed. John had headed down the stairs, but it was quiet down there. There was another bang, not as loud as the last one, but it still made Billy shake. He padded across the floor and to the stairs, creeping down a couple and looking toward the door. 

John had his back pressed against it, and it looked like he was trying to keep it shut. When he saw Billy and Paul looking down, his eyes lit up and he made a  _ shhh _ motion. Billy’s eyes grew wide. Was someone trying to break in?!

Paul narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to see who’s out there. Maybe I can scare them off,” he said. Billy watched as he faded out of view. Hopefully Paul would be able to stop them. 

John eased himself off the door for a moment and stood up straighter, peeking through the window to see who was there. “I can’t see what they look like,” he muttered. 

Billy swallowed. “What  _ do  _ you see?”

“They’ve got a hood.”

“ _ Shit _ .” Billy’s stomach dropped. It was the mugger. But wouldn’t they have forgotten about Billy by then? Why would they want to come back? Suddenly another bang was heard, and John grabbed the doorknob, holding it as tight as he possibly could. “ _ Come ‘ere _ !” he hissed. Billy bolted down the stairs and practically threw himself against the door. The mugger wasn’t giving up. He was trying to break down the door!

“What is Paul  _ doing _ out there?” John growled. 

“Give him time!”

“Ssh!”

“ _ Fine _ .”

It was a struggle between John, Billy, and the mugger. Both were fighting over the door, but somehow the two Beatles were losing. In an instant, they were defeated, and the door came crashing down along with Billy and John. Luckily John managed to grab Billy’s hand and heave him up just in time for them to take off. They tore through the flat and up the stairs. “Where are we going to go?” Billy said, not even trying to be quiet.

“Through the window, we don’t have a choice!” John answered.

“Which window?”

“The kitchen!”

Billy gulped. It was a long drop from the kitchen window to the ground, but...it was better than dying. The two of them sprinted into the kitchen, skidding over the counter and knocking over bowls and plates. John grabbed the window and tugged it, trying to grab it open. “It’s not budging!”

Billy looked over his shoulder. “He’s gonna find us!”

John let out a grunt of effort as he opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a pan. Heaving back, he threw the pan through the window. Glass shattered, and he was able to break the rest out. “C’mon!” he shouted, climbing onto the counter and leaping out. Billy watched as he dropped down to the ground. He was petrified, but as he heard the mugger following him into the kitchen, he knew he didn’t have a choice but to jump. Closing his eyes and giving a silent prayer to Paul, Billy stepped up onto the counter and jumped. 

As he was coming out from the window, his sleeve snagged on a piece of broken glass. Billy heard a deep tear, but before he could realize what was happening he was falling down and landed, feet first (thankfully) on the ground. And then face-first. Because no one is perfect.

“Come on, hurry up!” John grabbed his hand to pull him up, but Billy felt a searing pain and let out a cry. “What?”

Billy stared down at his hand. It was torn from the bottom of his palm up to the bottom of his middle finger. Bright red blood stained his hand and the front of his shirt. “Holy...dear  _ god, _ Billy, what happened?” John grabbed his wrist and looked it over. “Holy shit.” He turned his gaze up to the window. “C’mon...c’mon...we’ll look over this.”

Billy moaned through gritted teeth as John hurried him onto the sidewalk. “Come on.”

“Where are we going to go?” 

“Let’s go around the side of the house and get in my car,” John said. “I can take you back to my place. Let’s just hope Paul is with us.”

“I am,” Paul faded into view from beside them, looking vaguely rumpled. “I managed to make him think you were in the bathroom. You have enough time.” His glassy gaze fell down to Billy’s hand. “What the hell  _ happened _ to you?”

“It looks like he snagged his hand on some glass,” John was already hurrying them around the front of the flat. “Come on, come on. We’re going to Kenwood.”

Billy couldn’t stop looking down at his hand. He was feeling dizzy. He’d never seen so much blood in his life. At least Paul tried to clean himself up more than this. They crept around to the front of 57 Wimpole and piled into John’s car. As he started the engine he grabbed some gloves out of his jacket pocket. “There you go, use that to stop the bleeding till we get there,” he said. The engine revved as John tore off. He leaned forward to see better, as even with his glasses his eyesight was terrible.

“Don’t speed,” Paul said warily. He was helping Billy cover the wound up, but it still hurt like the fires of hell. “It's all right. Don’t pass out. We’re nearly there.”

“It’ll be a good ten minutes before we’re there,” John said from the front of the car. “We’ll call the cops when we get home. They’ll catch that crook.” His voice was thick with frustration. 

They sped (despite Paul’s uneasiness) through London and then eventually got to where the buildings were thinning out into fields and trees. Billy held his hand close to his chest, looking out the window and trying to stay calm. He thought of Scotland back home, where everything was fine. He was fine.

It felt like hours before John finally pulled up onto a hill. “We’re here,” he announced. Some of the lights were still on in the large house. It was practically a mansion. “I’ll tell Cyn to get some bandages.”

“Cyn?” Billy wheezed. He couldn’t remember who that was.

“John’s wife,” Paul explained as John helped them hike up the hill into the house. “It's all right, you don’t need to act like me for her. He has a son named Julian who’s...what...four?”

Billy was relieved to be inside. As expected, Cynthia was standing at the kitchen counter once they got there, a red box open on the counter. Paul faded out of view as Billy and John finally got there. John helped Billy ease down into a chair at the table. “There you are…”

“What happened to you?” Cynthia looked worried, a glint of concern in her pale brown eyes. She had long, cascading bleach-blonde hair but had a pretty small frame. 

“I’ll tell ya what happened,” John was not afraid to let his full Scouse accent shine through as he picked up the telephone from the other room. “We were just finishing up dinner when that mugger came and busted down the door. You know...the one I told you about?”

Cynthia nodded as she began to tightly bandage up Billy’s hand. He finally let himself relax and watched her. “He was back, then?”

“Yeah, exactly,” John said before the cops picked up. Billy could barely hear the  _ 999, what’s your emergency? _ from the phone a few feet away. John launched into the report, visibly angry. The only time Billy had ever seen him like that before was when he punched George. That felt like a million years ago.

“There you go,” Cyn said softly with a smile. “That could have gotten bad.”

“Thanks,” Billy sighed. “You’re a life-saver.”

Cyn just went back over to the counter and shut the box. “I’ve been trained,” she shrugged. “You know John’s had some accidents before. He can’t see a thing.”

Billy tried to smile. “Yeah...I know.”

“You can stay here for tonight,” Cyn continued. “Not that you have anywhere else to go…but there’s a guest room upstairs. Just make sure not to wake Julian up. He gets cranky when he doesn’t get enough sleep.”

Billy just watched her. She seemed so calm in the face of chaos, sort of like Paul. Then he glanced down at his hand. Cyn had wrapped it up from his wrist to the top of his palm. A little bit of the cut was sticking out. The whole bandage was already blooming with red. Billy winced and took another deep breath.  _ It's all right, _ he thought, repeating Paul’s usual phrase for when Billy worried.  _ It's all right, It's all right, It's all right… _

After John got off the phone, he came back into the kitchen and leaned against the door. Billy was getting a good look at him for the first time tonight. He looked considerably disheveled, and his eyes were narrowed as he stared at the floor. Then his gaze flitted up to Billy’s. He stayed there for a long time before turning around and going upstairs.


	23. Chapter 23

Billy woke up relatively early the next morning. The Lennon’s guest room was spacious and comfortable, and he stayed there for a while, recounting the events of the night before. 

The same mugger had come into the house. So that must mean he wanted something out of Billy, right? Something he couldn’t get from anything else?  _ Don’t talk, don’t move. Stay where you are and don’t think about telling anyone. _ Those were his words. But Billy never knew what he didn’t want him to tell anyone about. Paul cut him off. 

Billy sighed, lifting his hand up to look at it. The bandages were covered in blood, but not soaked. And the cut still ached. He couldn’t help but wonder, a small part of him, if all of this Beatle-ing was worth it. Billy could have died last night. All for what…? 

_No,_ _no,_ he thought, shaking his head. _Thoughts like that are what got me in a car wreck two months ago._ He could still remember the heavy guilt he felt, like a weight that was too massive to lift off his conscience. He had to stand up on his own two feet and fight whoever was trying to hurt him. Maybe even physically. He’d see when he got there.

Finally, he decided to slide out of bed and go to the bathroom. He got a look at himself in the mirror as he passed by. His black hair was ruffled and messy, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He felt disgusting. He needed to shower. 

Once that was done Billy felt a little bit better. 

He didn’t bring any clothes, though… John had lent him some bedclothes, but nothing else to put on. Billy supposed he’d just put on what he had the night before, even though that kind of defeated the whole point of showering. He washed his face and his good hand and started toward the door.

“Hey, you never said good morning.” 

Billy turned around. Paul was standing by the bed, pulling the sheets up. “Oh, sorry, Macca,” he replied. “I got a little sidetracked.” He went over to sit on the end of the bed. “Thanks for helping me last night, by the way. I probably would have passed out if it weren’t for you.”

“I’m always there,” Paul said. “You need someone to calm you down.”

Billy smiled gratefully.


	24. Chapter 24

John’s gardens were expansive. They were covered in perfectly manicured, lush, healthy green ferns, bushes, and trees. Fountains sprayed sun-lit water into clear pools. It was like a paradise out there. There were plenty of high-up walls and sitting spaces where you could look over the horizon. Billy could see why John liked it.

They were wedged in the corner farthest away from the house, where Paul could finally feel comfortable showing himself. There was a nice little sofa-swing surrounded by trees...a hidden-away hollow of sorts. 

“So…” Paul said as he sat down on the swing. “Last night was certainly…”

“Awful,” John answered. “I’m pissed.”

“I’m not as pissed as I am terrified,” Billy mumbled. “I don’t know if that mugger is going to strike again.”

“I was on the phone with the cops last night,” John replied. “They said they arrested the guy. He was still lookin’ for us at the house...what a dolt.”

“Maybe I should move,” Billy said. “So just in case...y’know...he ever gets out, he’ll come back to Wimpole.”

“I doubt he’ll be getting out, but that is a good idea,” Paul answered, glancing down at Billy, who was sitting cross-legged on the pebbles. “I guess we just have to find a place to go, then.”

“That won’t be too hard,” John said. “Plenty of open spaces in London.”

“We just have to make sure no one figures out where we’re going,” Paul pointed out.

Billy sighed. “I’m tired of keeping things a secret, though,” he muttered. “If I’m supposed to be Paul McCartney...I’m supposed to be famous, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Billy glanced down at his hand again. Cyn had changed the bandages after breakfast, and there was less blood showing through now. “Listen…” John began, and Billy glanced up. “Don’t let this discourage you again. I know what happened when you got in that car wreck, but...it’ll be fine. We’ll protect you...we won’t let you get hurt again.”

Billy gazed up at him for a while. “I...I wasn’t going to let it discourage me,” he said. “I’ll be okay. If I have to get a little scrape on my hand for the sake of the Beatles, it’s not the end of the world.” 

John and Paul both smiled. “There y’are, Billy,” John said, patting him on the back. “I knew you were a good sport all along.”

Billy sighed. “I try to be!”

“We should probably drive by Wimpole, though,” Paul suggested. “Just to see what the damage is. Or...I don’t know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John nodded. “Definitely. And we have to tell Ritchie and Geo what happened.” He tilted his head back and forth a few times. “I don’t know if Billy will be able to play for a while.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause of your hand,” John answered. “It was...what...your right hand? You have to change the chords with that hand...n’...it’ll probably hurt, yeah?”

Billy shrugged. “I guess.”

“So what will you do, then?” Paul asked. “Billy’s bass playing is necessary, now that he knows how to do it.”

“Well...Geo can do it. Or I can,” John replied. 

“But your songs are already getting complicated,” Paul pointed out. “You can’t play bass and piano at the same time.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed and he hummed in thought. “Yeah…”

There was a moment of collective thought. Billy saw Paul gaze over at John for a while, and he rocked back and forth for a bit. “You could...ehh…” he trailed off.

“Yeah?” John glanced over at him.

“No, no, it’s dumb.”

“What?”

Paul laughed, like he knew he was going to be made fun of. “ _ I _ could play.”

John and Billy both stared at him for a while. John looked unsure, but Billy didn’t think it could be too bad. “I mean...yeah,” he said. “He could play. But...Paul, you’d just have to be comfortable with revealing yourself to George, Ringo, Bri and Martin.”

Paul’s eyes flashed, like he had just realized he had to do that. “Oh, yeah.”

“If he doesn’t wanna do that, we could also just put the bass on another tape and then merge them,” John suggested. “That’s...kinda what I had in mind in the first place, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. True,” Paul nodded. “That’s right.”

“I mean, you can play if you want,” Billy cut in. “ _ Eventually _ .”

Paul glanced up at him, but by the way his eyes glazed over Billy knew he was thinking about something else altogether. “I know.”

“Well, let’s go over to Wimpole and see what we can find,” John shrugged. “Before anyone gets in and steals your stuff, yeah?”

Billy and Paul exchanged a glance. “Yeah.”


	25. Chapter 25

Once they finally got to Wimpole, there was a string of yellow tape around the front of the house. Police were surrounding them, and John scowled as a few press reporters clustered towards the car. A woman shoved her microphone in Billy’s face. “Mr. McCartney, what happened last night?”

Another man in a tight suit grabbed John’s arm. “Were you there?”

“Your hand looks hurt. Is it?”

“Who came into your house last night?”

“Get outta here,” John growled, shoving past them. He and Billy ducked under the yellow tape and went inside. Billy could hear officers talking upstairs. Everything looked pretty much the same, except for the door’s hinges being the only thing that remained there. Upstairs it was a bit more wrecked. Furniture was overturned and glass from the broken window was everywhere. The pan John had thrown was on the floor, a dent in the side.

“Wow,” Billy murmured. “Sorta looks like a war zone in the kitchen.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah.”

Billy sighed, putting his hands in his jacket pockets. “I’m gonna miss this place,” he said. “It was nice. A first good home for me...me as Paul.”

“Yeah,” John looked around. “We wrote a lot of good hits here.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Just yesterday.”

One of the police rounded the corner, and Billy had to keep from jumping. “Ah, hello. I didn’t hear you two come in,” he said, stuffing a notepad in his back pocket. “Well...I’m sure you know what the next step is.”

“Where is he?” John said, throwing the cop’s greeting out the window. 

The cop held up his hands in defense. “We arrested him last night. He was trying to climb out the window behind you, but he broke his ankle in the process,” he said. “So he was pretty easy to catch.”

“Where is he, then?”

“We have him.”

“But  _ where _ ?”

“John,” Billy nudged John’s side with his elbow. “Calm down.”

John turned his fiery gaze on Billy. “Oh, I’m sorry, Bi— _ Paul _ , I just wanna know where the criminal who tried to  _ murder _ us is!” 

“He’s in prison, where do you think?” Billy peered over at him and then glanced at the cop. “Right?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, there you go.”

“Well, excuse me for being  _ concerned _ .”

“I assure you that you should probably move out of here soon,” the cop went on. “Just in case he was part of a gang or anything. Besides...it’s not very safe to not have a door on your house.”

“Yeah, we know,” Billy said. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” the cop turned and went back into the room he had come from. Billy and John shared a glance and a sigh.

“Well...now what?”

“We have to tell Brian.”

“I know.”

“So...the studio?”

“I guess.”

“Okay.”


	26. Chapter 26

Studio Two was relatively quiet when they went inside. All the lava lamps and lights were off, so it was just the plain, regular room it had always been. Nobody was there, though. “He’s probably up in his office,” Paul pointed out. He was very close to disappearing, but Billy could tell he was tired of not being seen. He drifted up the stairs behind them before finally slipping away when they got to the door into the office hallway.

They arrived at Brian’s door, and John stopped Billy before going in, pressing his ear to the door. “Yes,” Brian was saying. He was on the phone, then. “Yes, that’s correct. I saw them two days ago. I don’t know, I wasn’t  _ there _ .”

“Can we go in?” Billy murmured.

“I think he’s talking about what happened,” John replied.

“I’m sure they’re alright. Oh, they came to the house?” Brian didn’t even try to hide his relief. “Good, good. That’s very good. Yes, I...I suppose. Thank you. Bye.” 

John finally decided to come in. “There y’are, Eppy.”

Brian glanced up at them. “What happened to you two last night?” he said crisply, sitting up straighter. “Are any of you hurt?”

The other two sat down, and Billy pulled his sleeve down so Brian could see the extent of his injury. “Me...a little. But it’s nothin’, really,” he said, attempting to shrug it off. 

Brian wasn’t going to let it go, though. “Did he do this to you?”

Billy shook his head. “Nah, I did it to myself,” he answered.

Brian faltered. “ _ What _ ?”

“He was jumpin’ out of a window and his hand snagged on the glass,” John explained. Brian’s shoulders relaxed in relief.

“Dear god...I’m sorry this happened,” Brian sighed. “I should have known after he attacked you the first time...I should have done something.” His gray-blue eyes flashed with regret as he stared at the top of his desk. “It’s my fault this happened, really.”

“Ah, Eppy, don’t blame yourself for this,” John insisted. “It’s not anyone’s fault except for the guy that broke in. You can’t predict this sorta stuff...nobody knew he was going to strike again.”

Brian gazed over at him for a while. “In any case,” he said, “I’ll have to put in a bit of extra security, and not just for Billy. I don’t ever want anything like this to happen again.”

“Shouldn’t we tell the MI5 about this?” Billy said. “Or at least Maxwell?” 

“Yeah,” John grunted in agreement.

Brian paused. Very slowly, he leaned forward, checking to see if anyone was outside. Then he got up, went over to the doorknob, and locked it. Puzzled, John and Billy watched as he went back over to his desk and quietly sat down in front of them. “None of this conversation will leave this room,” he murmured, his eyes flitting between the two of them. “Do you hear me?”

John scowled. “What are you on about, Eppy?”

Brian grabbed a pen, something Billy noticed he did when he was nervous, and spun it between two fingers. “I think…” he trailed off, like he wasn’t even sure he should be saying this. “I think the MI5...or Maxwell, whoever...is behind this.”

“What?” Billy leaned forward, eyes growing wide. “No way. There’s no way!”

“Yeah,” John backed him up. “Why would they want to hurt Billy? Our whole job... _ and _ theirs...is to make sure nothing bad happens to Billy. To make sure the secret never gets out! Why would they make it  _ harder _ for us?”

Brian’s eyes narrowed. “The clues, John,” he said. “The attacker didn’t want to show his face, he—”

“Who in their right mind would  _ want _ to show their face when committing a crime?” Billy said. 

Brian continued. “You said he was taller than me. Yeah? Remember, you said he had  _ silver _ eyes, right?” he said. “Well...who  _ else _ has silver eyes? Huh? Only one person you can think of.”

John and Billy shared a glance. “Maxwell,” John whispered, like if he said it too loud it would suddenly make itself true.

“I was on the phone before you came in here,” Brian said. “They never told me  _ where _ they put the guy. They just told me they had him. No specifics!”

“Yeah, they...they did that to us too,” Billy said. “But...Brian, I just...I don’t get it.”

“Here’s what I think,” Brian stood up and went around to the window. He stared at the skyline for a moment before snapping the blinds shut. “I think they’re trying to kill Billy because they think he’s going to tell the secret of Paul’s death.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“Remember what he said to you?” Brian turned his gaze on Billy. “ _ Don’t talk, don’t move. Stay where you are and don’t think about telling anyone. _ Telling anyone what? Telling anyone that Paul is dead.”

“I just assumed they were talking about the crime,” Billy replied. “Like...don’t tell anyone it happened.” He lowered his head. “But I guess it does make sense…”

“That’s insane, Bri,” John scowled. “I don’t buy it.”

“Why not?” Brian said. “You’ve always been aggressive towards Maxwell.”

“No, I haven’t!” John cried, glancing over at Billy for backup. 

“Yeah…” Billy trailed off. “Remember the dinner…?”

John huffed in defeat. 

“I know it’s hard to take in,” Brian went back to his seat and sat down. “And we may not even be correct. But there is strong evidence pointing toward Maxwell.”

“So what do we do then?” Billy said. “I mean...what  _ can _ we do?”

“I think we just have to lay in wait,” Brian replied. “We’ll see what happens.”

“But we can’t just  _ see _ what happens!” John protested. “What if he comes back for Billy? What if he  _ kills _ him next time?” 

Billy’s breath caught in his throat and he stifled a couple coughs. He normally would have tried to tell himself that was impossible...but it was. There was a good chance Maxwell, or an MI5 agent, or... _ whoever _ it was could come back and kill him. And maybe neither John or Paul would be there to save him again.


	27. Chapter 27

They returned to Kenwood later that evening. Billy didn’t say much. He was horribly shaken up, and every loud noise or voice he heard made him jump. As they went inside John immediately went upstairs without a word. Billy followed him not long afterwards, padding into the guest bedroom and sitting down by the window with a sigh.

“I know,” Paul said, his voice ringing through the hollow room as he melted into view. Rain pattered on the window, making the gardens outside look blurry and gray. “I wasn’t expecting that either.”

Billy didn’t want to reply. He didn’t even want to acknowledge the fact that this might even be real at all. He felt Paul’s ice cold hand on his shoulder. “I won’t let anything happen,” he said. “You know that.”

Billy nodded. “But...what if you’re not there?”

“I’m always there.”

Billy glanced up at him. “Not when he chased me down the first time. Not till the very end…”

“When you needed me most,” Paul tilted his head with a smile.

Billy sighed as hot tears filled his hazel-green eyes. He took in a watery sniff and tried to blink them away. “Aah, it’s all right,” Paul said, noticing he was upset. “You know me and John and Eppy care about you, right?”

Billy nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“Exactly,” Paul smiled encouragingly. “You’ll be alright.” 

Billy nodded again and let Paul hug him. “I think Brian’s right,” he said as he went back to the window. He crossed his arms behind his back. “We just need to wait. See what happens.” A sneaky grin crossed his face. “But...oh, boy. If they try to strike again, you’d best believe we’ll fight back.”

Billy gazed up at him for a while and shook his head. “I don’t deserve a friend like you…” he mumbled. 

Paul turned to look at him and winked. “I know.”

Billy’s gaze drifted out the window. He was tired of feeling hopeless, tired of feeling like he couldn’t do anything. He wanted to take charge for once, to feel like the head of something instead of staying behind like he always did. But he didn’t quite know how he was going to change that. He blinked slowly, eyelids feeling heavy as he listened to the rain. Maybe John and Brian were right. All they needed to do right now was wait.


	28. Chapter 28

“Oh my god, that looks terrible!” Ringo’s blue eyes glinted with concern as he held Billy’s injured hand in his. “That was because of glass? Are you sure it won’t be infected?” “No, Cynthia’s been keeping an eye on it,” Billy replied. “But it looks like it’s getting a little bit better, and it hurts less.”

“Really?” Ringo said. “Oh, that’s good. I just can’t believe someone would break into the house like that! Don’t they know what kind of terror they’re harboring?” He shook his head like a disappointed mother. “I wish I could have five minutes in a room with that guy.”

“Alright, alright,” Martin said through the intercom. “We only have two more songs to record before we have some fine-tuning, and then the album will be released.”

As February turned into March, the Beatles had hesitantly gone back to recording. Billy was still staying at Kenwood as he looked for a new house, but neither John nor Cyn seemed to be very eager for him to leave. Besides, Billy felt safer there, so he was pushing his welcome a little bit just to avoid another break-in. 

His second surgery was coming up soon, too. Brian had offered to take him again. They were going to do some more face reshaping, especially around the jawline. It was going to be longer this time. Billy wasn’t very excited for it, but at least he knew what to expect. 

“We have twelve songs for the album.” Martin continued. “But we need one more. A big finish, really. The reprise doesn’t really do it. This is going to be an intensely influential album, I can just see it! But we need it to have a good... _ satisfying _ ending.”

“So we have to write another song. Got it,” George said dryly. “Can’t wait.”

“Hey, I have something,” John said after a moment of thought. “I wrote some of it in January. But it’s not done.”

“Well, go on,” Martin nodded. “Give us a show.”

John ambled over to the piano and sat down, glancing up at Billy, who was leaning against it. “Let’s just see...hmm. I don’t know if I’ll remember it,” he said. “Well.” He played a couple chords. “ _I read the news today, oh boy...about a lucky man who made the grade._ _And though the news was rather sad…_ ” John glanced down at the keys. “ _Well I just had to laugh_.”

Billy’s gaze flitted up to George and Ringo. It was painfully obvious Paul had been the inspiration. “ _ I saw the photograph… _ ” John went on. “ _ He blew his mind out in a car. He didn’t notice that the lights had changed. _

“ _ A crowd of people stood and stared...they’d seen his face before. Nobody was really sure if he was from the house of lords… _ ” John hit a couple more keys before stopping. “That’s not all I have. But I think there could be a good endin’ to it. You know, gradually, up to a big finish that’ll close the whole thing off.”

“Okay, sure,” Martin nodded. “Yeah, very nice. We need to finish it, though.”

“I can help,” Billy offered, taking advantage of the silence.

“I don’t think so,” Martin replied, deadpan. 

“What? That’s not fair. Yeah, he can,” Ringo protested. 

“Yeah, you’re alright, Billy,” John scooted over on the bench, and Billy, surprised that he’d actually been allowed, very slowly sat down beside him. The piano keys were so intimidating. “Well...what do you think should come after that?” 

“Uhm…” Billy swallowed. “Well...I feel like you need sort of a  _ contrast _ to all the dreary stuff, y’know? Like...brighter.” 

“Hm.” John nodded. “Alright.” He moved up a few octaves and played a few chords. “Like that…?”

“Yeah!” Billy smiled. “Y’know, there’s a bit of a outlook change. Like the first verse is all...I don’t wanna say  _ pessimistic, but _ …”

“Pessimistic,” George grinned. He and Ringo were on either side of the piano.

“Yeah,” Billy laughed. “And the second verse is more optimistic.”

“Okay, sure.” John began playing a couple chords. Billy hummed along, trying to find words he liked. 

“ _ Woke up… _ ” he started. “ _ Fell outta bed. Dragged a comb across my head. _ ”

“Yeah!” John grinned. “Gear!”

Billy smiled. “Uhh... _ found my way downstairs and drank a cup, and lookin’ up...I noticed I was late… _ ” 

John cut off. “That’s fab, Billy, really!” he said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Billy laughed. “Well...I didn’t think it was  _ that _ good.”

“Maybe Billy could write a song for the next album,” Ringo said with a beam. 

Billy glanced up at Ringo. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah!” Ringo said. “Well…y’know. If John n’ George would let you.”

“Of course we’ll let you,” George said. “It just has to be  _ good _ .”

“It will be good.”

“We don’t know that. Could be beginner’s luck.”

“Don’t be sour, Geo,” John responded. “I’m sure Billy’s got what it takes, if you have.”

“What’s  _ that  _ supposed t’mean?”

“Nothin’, nothin’,” John answered, hiding a grin as George shot him a death glare. Billy didn’t understand why George doubted him so much, but he supposed it was just unfamiliarity. He hadn’t spent nearly as much time with George or Ringo as he did John. Maybe he could take them out to lunch sometime. 

“Well, I’ll go ahead and finish that up,” John said. “C’mon, Billy, let’s figure it out.”

Billy saw a whole mood change in John as they were fixing up the song together. There was more light in his eyes and he seemed more excited than usual. It  _ was _ exciting, after all...to make something brilliant and new. Billy found himself getting giddy as well as John scribbled down every line, every lyric. “We’ll have a whole grand orchestra for that part,” John circled the space between two verses. “It’ll be all mayhem, right? And then they’ll get to the very top and it’ll end with this massive piano chord.”

“That’s fantastic!” Billy said over George and Ringo’s jam session, which was going on in the background. George’s loud electrical Stratocaster almost drowned out everything else. “How d’ya think of this stuff?”

“I dunno, just flows out, really,” John said. “I mean...we scrap things.”

“Don’t scrap  _ this _ .”

“I’m not goin’ to,” John replied, glancing up at Billy for a brief moment. “It’s the first song we ever worked on together.”

Billy couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah.”

Just then George’s noise reached its peak, and John turned around on the piano bench. “Hey, Geo, mind turning it down a bit?”

George glanced up at John, and if looks could kill, John would be face-down on the floor. He snapped the cord out of his guitar and set it down, marching out of the room. Billy leaned back, watching him go. “What’s wrong with George?”

“I dunno, he’s just bein’ pissy today,” John replied, distracted.

“D’ya think we should go find him?” Ringo called from behind his drum kit.

“Let ‘im be, Ritchie, he’ll be back,” John replied. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

George was not back. A half hour passed.

“I think I’m gonna go find him,” Ringo said. His face was fogged up by the cigarette smoke. “You wanna come with me?”

“I’ll go,” Billy stretched. “I need a walk. John…?”

“I’m gonna stay.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You made him leave, y’gotta say sorry.”

John scowled. “I didn’t  _ do _ anything.”

Billy used his better hand to tug on John’s sleeve. “Come on, you need a walk too. Don’t act like you don’t care, now. You love Geo, right?”

“Fine,” John stood up and slid out from behind the safe haven of the piano bench. They followed Ringo out into the slightly colder hallway. “How’s yer hand?” he said, peering over at Billy.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Billy replied. “It’s healing up just fine, y’know.”

“Y’know,” Ringo echoed from ahead. “Paul used to say that all the time.”

“I think I’m pickin’ it up from him,” Billy laughed.

Ringo looked over his shoulder, puzzled. “What?”

John gave Billy an urgent  _ what-the-hell-are-you-doing _ look. “I mean...I’ve been watching his interviews and stuff,” Billy explained nervously. “Y’know...just to get the feel of him…”

“Oh,” Ringo smiled. “That makes sense. I thought...never mind.”

Billy silently sighed in relief as John nudged him in the side. “ _ Careful _ .”

They checked in the restrooms, but they were empty. All the way down the hallway was empty. Billy hoped it wasn’t true, but...they had to go on the roof again.

“He can’t be up there,” Ringo protested. “George hates the wind.”

“So where else could he be, Ritchie? Huh?” John muttered. Billy noticed how easily he got frustrated sometimes. Just then, murmuring was heard down the hallway they were standing in front of. John, Billy and Ringo shared an intrigued glance and hurried down. Billy didn’t know why George would be talking to himself.

He hadn’t seen or heard Paul since they walked into the studio.

The three of them slowly inched along the wall, trying to keep as quiet as possible. They got to the end of the hallway and looked around the corner, down at the dead end. To Billy’s shock, Paul was in full view, talking to George, whose eyes were bloodshot and face was blotchy with red. But he was smiling. 

“Macca!” John headed forward, leaving Billy and a stunned Ringo behind. “What are you doin’?”

George glanced up at him, astonished. “Wait...you  _ knew _ —”

“Hold on, hold  _ on, _ just let me explain,” Paul held up his hands. “Okay?”

Ringo cut him off. “What the  _ hell _ ?”

“Don’t pass out, Ritchie,  _ please _ ,” Billy told him. 

Ringo leaned against the wall, unable to tear his eyes off of Paul’s ghostly form. “I think I’m havin’ a hard time with that, actually,” he mumbled.

“Don’t freak out,” Paul added. “Okay? I’ve been a ghost for a while, following Billy because I figured that you three would be too distracted to help him for a while. And after a month or so I told John what was happening, and now George, and now...Ritchie. I guess.”

“So you’ve been with us the whole time?” Ringo said. 

Paul smiled. “Yeah, Ritch. Makin’ sure you’re okay without me.”

Ringo let out a snivel, and Paul came over to hug him. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’m here now.” Ringo’s arms wrapped around Paul as they embraced. “I’m sorry I’ve made you two wait so long. I should have come down as soon as I told John what was going on.”

George’s dark gaze searched the floor. “Did you want to?”

“Well, y’know, I felt like it would be a little harrowing at first.”

“Paul’s been dreadfully helpful,” Billy chimed in. “He’s taught me so much. It was him who got me out of that mugger’s attack the first time. He pushed him out of the way...I owe so much to him, it’s insane.”

Paul looked over at him, his silver eyes gleaming with appreciation.

“Does Eppy know?” George said. 

“No,” John replied. “I don’t know if he should.”

“Why not?” Billy said.

“Well...I dunno. He might not believe it.”

Paul smiled. “John just doesn’t wanna share the secret with him.”

“‘S not a  _ secret _ …”

“Do you want to tell Brian?” Billy asked Paul. 

He shrugged. “Sure. I guess if we all know, he deserves to as well.”

“How d’ya think he’ll take it?” George said.

“I don’t know. We’ll just have to see.”


	29. Chapter 29

The five of them all shuffled toward Brian’s office, and Billy leaned forward to see if he was inside. He was scribbling something down and looked relatively stressed. “I dunno if we should do this,” he murmured. “He doesn’t seem very happy.”

“Maybe this’ll cheer him up,” Ringo replied quietly.

“Ehh…”

“Just go in,” Paul sighed. “I’m getting antsy.”

“Fine,” Billy knocked on the door. A huffy  _ ‘come in’ _ sounded from inside. Gently, Billy opened the door, and Brian glanced up. Paul disappeared. 

“Yes?”

“We...well, we have something t’ tell you,” Billy said as they filed into the small room. He felt Paul bump him, and he moved back. 

“What’s this?” Brian looked interested but also a bit nervous.

“Well...okay,” George took a deep breath. “This might be hard to believe. And we swear we’re not making it up, because all of us just saw it with our very own human eyes, right?”

The other three nodded.

“Alright, go on,” Brian said. “You’d better not be high.”

“No, we’re not,” George replied. “But...ah, well. Billy, you go ahead.”

Billy scowled. Of course they were going to make him do it. “Well...ever since I first became a Beatle, someone...pretty special has been helping me along the way and...well. Making sure I don’t screw up, I guess.”

Brian set his pen down. “Who’s that?”

Billy couldn’t help but smile. “Well...it’s Paul.”

Before Brian could say anything else, Paul appeared between the five of them, a pleasant smile on his face. “Hello, Eppy.”

Brian’s face went totally pale, and he didn’t say anything for about forty five seconds. Bug-eyed and blinking, he stared down at his desk, hands shaking. “Wha—What?” His gaze snapped back up to Paul. “You’re not a…”

“I  _ am _ a ghost,” Paul grinned. “But it’s not a terrible life, this one.”

“It’s no life at all,” Brian murmured.

“Oh, Bri, don’t be a downer!” Paul said. “You’re all right. Everything’s all right.”

“D-did you all know about...this?” Brian glanced over at John, George, and Ringo.

“I’ve known,” John looked over at Ringo. “But they just figured out today.”

“No wonder you know so much!” Brian stood up all the sudden, a habit Billy noticed that he did frequently. “I knew we hadn’t taught you hardly  _ anything _ you know! I should have...I should have  _ realized _ .”

“It’s okay, Bri…”

Brian’s pale blue eyes shone in the incoming afternoon light. “Oh, god, Paul...I missed you so much,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m...I’m  _ sorry _ about what happened to you. I wish…” 

“It’s all right,” Paul replied. “It was not your fault.”

Brian glanced up. “I’ve always felt like it was.”

“Why?” 

“Because I didn’t stop you from leaving that night. It was raining so hard, I should have seen it coming,” Brian ran a hand through his dark hair. “I could have stopped you if I had known what was going to happen.”

Paul’s silver eyes glinted. “Brian, with all due respect, stop focusing on the  _ should-haves  _ and the  _ could-haves _ ,” Paul said. “I noticed you do that a lot. You’ve gotta stop...thinking about the past and start thinking about what you can do later and…and  _ now. _ ”

Brian stared at him for a long time and eased down back into his chair. 

“I don’t want you to feel bad about it anymore,” Paul continued. “Okay? It’s all right, Eppy. People have their own lives, their own thoughts...their own  _ feelings. _ You can’t control them. Not everything is always  _ your fault _ .”

Billy, for the first time ever, saw a few silver tears drop from Brian’s eyes, and it seemed like the hard exterior he’d built up was crumbling. Paul let out a sigh as the other three herded around their manager and their friend, murmuring ‘it’s all right’-s and ‘it wasn’t your fault’-s. Billy didn’t know if it was right for him to do the same. He hung back and watched. 

He was relieved that everyone knew about Paul now. They didn’t have to hide him anymore. And Billy could feel more comfortable now. He couldn’t help but smile. Maybe everything would be alright now. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry anymore.


	30. Chapter 30

“Oh, this place looks nice,” Paul said as they looked through the papers for a new flat to buy. It was raining pretty hard outside Kenwood, the first traces of March coming to London. “Lots of space. Oh, and a big kitchen. Four burners on the stove!”

“Do we have the money for it, though?”

Paul paused a beat. “No.”

Billy sighed, sifting through ad after ad. All the flats looked nice and suitable, but he couldn’t stop thinking of what it would be like if someone broke into one of the windows. “There are ways to make it safer, y’know,” Paul said, noticing Billy’s apprehension. “We could put a camera by the door.”

“What’s that gonna do?”

“I dunno. Maybe we could find a way to see if anyone’s at the door.”

Billy sighed. He remembered when he was little, it was storming outside. Rain was pouring against the house and thunder rippled across the sky. It was nighttime, and being eight years old Billy was terrified. He hated storms and rain, though they were plentiful up in the Highlands. 

His terror peaked when he heard a rough knocking on his bedroom door. He couldn’t help but shriek in terror, and Gaoth, who was in his usual post at the foot of Billy’s bed, immediately woke up and ran towards the door, barking and snarling like a true guard dog. Billy was never scared of intruders after that, knowing Gaoth would be there to protect him.

Well, until he wasn’t.

“We could get a dog,” he blurted. Paul peered over at him, puzzled.

“A dog? Like...like a…poodle or a golden retriever or a beagle?”

“No, like a guard dog of sorts,” Billy reasoned. “Like a...a sheepdog. Or something.”

Paul stared at him. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Billy nodded. “I had one when I was little. He was...he was great. He wouldn’t let anything happen to us.”

Paul squinted. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Well...I guess it wouldn’t be...a  _ terrible  _ idea,” he said. The light in his eyes began to dance with the thought of having a dog in the house. “Er...uhm. Maybe. We’ll think about it.”

Billy smiled. “You want one!”

Paul couldn’t help but grin. “Stop, I don’t!”

“It’s not that big of an  _ embarrassment _ ,” Billy said. “C’mon. There’s gotta be some sort of...breeder or seller around here. We’ve just gotta buy a house...and then...wa-la! We can have our dog.”

“So how old are you thinking?” Paul said. “Like...like a couple years, or…”

Billy shrugged. “I mean, we’ve got to  _ train  _ it to...y’know. Guard n’ all.”

“Yeah.”

“So like...young.”

“Like a puppy?”

“I mean...if that’s what it takes.”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“What’s goin’ on in here?” John came in all the sudden, scaring them out of their wits. Paul half-faded before he sighed, shaking his head as he came back into full view. “Picked out a flat yet?”

“Well, we’re actually...discussin’ getting a dog after we buy one.”

“A dog?” John tilted his head. “Like a puppy?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Billy and Paul both said on the same beat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean...like a guard dog,” Billy explained. “Like one that can...I dunno. Protect us from intruders...if there were to  _ be  _ any.”

“Where would you put it, then?”

“I dunno. We’re thinking. Just an idea.”

John shrugged. “I’m more of a cat lad, I suppose,” he said. “But dogs are alright too. I mean...you have to confront the fact that a dog might just run and hide under the bed if someone just comes in.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. Gaoth would  _ never _ do that. And neither would any other sheepdog. “That won’t happen,” he insisted. “We’ll pick the best of the best. The...fiercest of the fiercest. But one that’s still nice and all. To  _ us _ .”

“Alright, don’t recite a speech, Mr. Wilson,” John rolled his eyes with a grin. “I’ll be glad t’see you two go, though. It’s been nice havin’ you at Kenwood.” 

“Well...it’s not like we’ll be gone  _ forever _ ,” Paul said as he thumbed through a few more papers. “I mean...we’ll be  _ nearby _ .”

“Not nearby Wimpole, I’ll tell ya that,” Billy mumbled.

“Well, you’d better get lookin’, I guess,” John said. “C-can I help?”

“What, help look for a flat?”

John shrugged. “Yeah. I-I guess.”

Paul nodded. “Sure.”

John eased down beside Billy as he passed him a few ads. “Well, yer gonna want somethin’ that’s pretty far away from your previous flat,” he said. “Y’know. Probably somewhere Maxwell...er— _ whoever’s doin’ this _ can’t find you.”

“Yes, we’ve already covered this,” Paul replied flatly. 

John scowled. “So have you  _ found _ any place, then?”

“Well, we did see this,” Paul passed him the paper with the four-burner stove house on it. “But we’re a little short on cash.”

“How are you short on cash?” John said as his caramel eyes skimmed the paper. “You’re a Beatle.”

“Well, in case y’didn’t notice, all my money went to Jim n’ Mike after I died.”

“So Billy…”

“Doesn’t have enough, right.”

“How much is the place?”

“About 500 pounds, for a double.”

John peered up at him. “You don’t have 500 pounds?”

“John—”

“Alright, alright, I  _ get _ it, yer broke,” John replied. “Well...it’s not like I don’t have money. I could... _ help _ .”

Billy smiled. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I do if I want my house back,” John said with a laugh.

“But you just said you were sorry to see us go.”

“When didja start workin’ for the MI5, huh, Billy?”

“Okay, okay, calm down, ya git,” Billy joked. Then John gave him a hard look, and Billy felt ice spread through his veins.  _ Oh shit. Was  _ **_not_ ** _ supposed to say that.  _

“Just kiddin’,” John grinned. “You shoulda seen yer face, ha!”

Billy let out a sigh of relief. “God, I thought you were goin’ to kill me!”

The two shared a laugh, and Billy caught Paul’s eye. He was zoning out, but there was a hollow look behind his eyes. He faded out a little bit. Billy glanced back at John. Had he done something?

“Well, I’ll phone the bank soon,” John said as he stood up. “They’ll probably give me a loan so I can help ya buy that flat.”

“Really, thanks,” Billy said as John ambled towards the doorway. “Thanks for lettin’ us stay here and helping us with the whole new flat.”

John looked over his shoulder. “Not a big deal,” he shrugged. “Would do it for Paul, would do it for you.”

“You  _ are _ doing it for me!” Paul called as John walked off. He sat down with a huff.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Billy tilted his head.

Paul frowned. “Nothin’.”

“I can see past you…”

Paul’s gaze flitted up to his, and he hesitated before finally giving in. “Fine!” he grumbled. “You’re going to think I’m stupid for this, but…” He sighed, putting his head on his fist. “I just...feel like you’re...I dunno, since you’re becomin’ more like me...John’s more  _ enamored _ with you.”

Billy felt his face go warm. “E-en _ amored _ ?”

“Well, you know what I mean,” Paul sighed. “Just the other day, when you were on the piano with him.  _ We _ used to do that. And how you were joking around. Now it just feels like him and I are too far apart to do that anymore.”

Billy stared at him. “Well, you know John still loves you, right…?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I mean...even though you’re with all of us now, it’s still sorta tough for him to work out his emotions. Y’know? Like...I bet he feels distant too. I’ll bet you two are just...not communicating properly.”

Paul glanced up at him. “You think so?”

“Yeah. You two should talk tonight. Just you and him. And work all your feelings out!”

Paul rubbed his arm. “I dunno. Would that be weird?”

“How would it be weird?” Billy laughed. “Listen. You two have the most complex, inscrutable relationship I’ve ever seen before. I’m sure you and him have just talked before.”

“Well, yeah, we have.”

“Okay. Great. I’ll tell John to meet you here after dinner and you can work everything out. Alright?”

Paul gazed up at him for a bit longer and then smiled. “Oh, you’re the greatest, Billy,” he said with a beam. “I’m sure everything will be worked out just fine. And we’ll be right back to where we were by tomorrow.”

“I hope so.”


	31. Chapter 31

Tomorrow came. 

Billy woke up by himself. He only had to assume Paul and John had a conversation, or at least...said more than two words to each other. He slid out of the bed, did his usual morning routine, made the bed (given, a bit sloppier than Paul would have) and stood by the door, listening in to see if any conversation had been made last night.

Surprisingly (or not), instead of words he heard music.

Moving silently through the hallway, he made his way down to John’s bedroom. He hadn’t been in there before, but from what he could see from the sliver he could see through the barely-open door, it wasn’t particularly tidy. “No...two, three,  _ E _ minor, there we are!” Paul’s voice came from inside as two guitars strummed. “Like that.”

Billy leaned forward to see inside. John and Paul were sitting face-to-face, inches away from each other. Billy saw another side of Paul there...a rarer, more...vulnerable. He felt safe and normal, which was pretty scarce for being dead. Billy wished he could have a relationship like theirs, but...the Beatles were the only friends he really, truly had now. And no matter how long he was among them, they would always be lightyears apart.


	32. Chapter 32

March went on. 

John came through and helped Billy and Paul buy the flat. It was very nice, and there were three separate locks _ and _ a peephole. It had two bedrooms (which meant Paul got one to himself for once), a massive television room with two sofas, a kitchen that was fit for a professional chef, and two floors. Billy had never seen anything like it in his life. All they needed now was a dog.

Moving was...stressful, more for Billy than Paul, but what move wasn’t? At least they didn’t have to worry about selling the previous house. In mid-March, two days before Billy’s next surgery, they’d fully moved in. Billy was going into pre-surgery overdrive again as Paul unpacked their stuff.

“It won’t be that bad,” Paul assured him, pulling a few pans out of a box. Billy was sitting backwards on the sofa, feet up on the cushions, head on the floor. There was no wall between the kitchen and the sofa-room, just a split between carpets. Behind the television was a massive window. “You know how it went last time. You didn’t feel a thing, didn’t wake up once.”

“I  _ know, _ but...now that the MI5 wants to  _ kill _ me there’s more of a threat!”

“We’re not sure the MI5 wants to kill you, though.”

“Brian gave some good evidence.”

“Well, all the evidence Eppy gave could easily pertain to your regular, every-day intruder,” Paul pointed out. “Besides, I’ll be there the whole time. If they try anything…” Paul shook his head slowly. “They won’t walk straight for weeks. Or they’ll die. That’s a possibility.”

“Paul, don’t murder them.”

“I might.”

“But the golden  _ rule _ , sir.”

“The golden rule has always been tainted by  _ black _ ,” Paul said dramatically, but yelped when he almost dropped a plate. 

“I just...I feel like this is all a big mistake,” Billy sighed. “I wish I could just  _ tell _ Maxwell that I’m not going to tell the secret! But then again, I’m not getting even ten feet close to him. Can’t risk it, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Paul answered. “How’s your hand?”

Billy held it up in front of his face. It was still bandaged, but every time he changed them he saw less and less red. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll have a scar there forever, though.”

“Well...you’re used to those.”

“I am?”

“Don’t you have one on your chin?”

“They made it so it didn’t scar.”

“Ah.”

“Well...hopefully the world never sees my right hand.”

“It’s faces the people are after.”

Billy sighed, running his hands over his face. He thought he wouldn’t be quite as nervous for this surgery, but he’d been wrong. This was just as stressful as the last one. How did Paul just... _ not _ worry about things? Or, if he did, how did he hide it so well? Billy started feeling dizzy, so he sat back up like a proper human being. “Do you ever panic?” he said, arms crossing over the cushions. 

Paul gave him a quick look. “What? Of course. It’s natural.”

“But you never  _ seem _ like you do!”

“Why do you think I fade out so much?” Paul shrugged. “I don’t want to  _ show _ you I’m worrying. That would just...that would just make  _ you _ go into high gear.”

Billy watched him go from box to box, unpacking everything and making it tidy. “Why d’you care so much about me?” he mumbled. 

Paul put a few plates in the cabinet and gazed at an obscure spot on the floor. “Why do I  _ care _ so much about you?” he repeated with a laugh. “Well...why do you think?”

“Because you don’t want me to screw up for the Beatles.”

Paul shrugged, still not looking at him. “Well, yeah, that’s  _ part _ of it,” he said, blinking a few times as he tried to ground himself. “But you know...as time goes on and we spend more time together...I’m thinkin’ of you as a friend now.”

Billy’s face lit up. “Really?”

Paul laughed again, looking flustered. “Well, you didn’t see it before?” he said. 

“I dunno...I guess I just…” Billy shrugged. 

“We  _ are _ friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course, of course. I mean...you do so much for me, I guess we’d have to be.”

Paul smiled. 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for needles in this chapter! 🍋

The day of surgery came, and the second Billy opened his eyes he felt a jolt of terror. Vaguely hoping this might just be a dream, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe he had a couple more minutes.

He did not.

“Good  _ morn _ ing,” Paul said as he opened the door to Billy’s expansive, high-ceiling-ed bedroom. Billy groaned as some clothes smacked him in the face. “Get on. You’ve got two hours and Brian’s not waiting up.”

“Maybe he  _ should _ .”

“Don’t give me that crap, Billy, you know I’m going to be there.”

“Yeah, but…you can’t dull anything, really.”

“You sound awfully ungrateful. I don’t  _ have  _ to go anywhere with you.”

Billy sighed. “Sorry.” 

He got up and did the usual routine, maybe dragging his feet at some points. He knew he had to do this whether he liked it or not, but this time he wasn’t as terrified of the needles than the actual doctors. What if they decided to kill him? What if they ruined his body for the rest of his life? He almost didn’t want the sleeping drugs. 

He was sitting on the windowsill and watching the sun start crawling up when Brian’s car finally pulled beside the curb. He honked once, and Billy slid off his perch, grabbing his jacket and bringing it over his shoulders. “This time I can be visible in the car!” Paul said, voice bubbling with excitement. “I’m so glad Brian knows about me now.”

“I am, too,” Billy replied absently. “I don’t have to keep it a secret anymore.”

It wasn’t terribly cold outside, surprisingly. Billy was used to it being freezing in London, but now the first few warm breezes were coming through. He sat in the front beside Brian as Paul went to the backseat. Brian turned on the ignition and started off. 

“Are you still nervous?” he said after a few minutes.

Billy nodded. “Yeah. More about...the other thing now.”

“I’m a bit worried about that too,” Brian said, which made Billy shiver with apprehension. “But I’m sure they won’t do anything to you. We could easily sue them and it could go to court.”

“You can’t sue for  _ murder _ .”

“They’re not going to kill you,” Brian replied. “They’re smarter than that. We would know something’s up when you don’t come out of surgery.”

“True,” Billy sighed. He crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the headrest, glancing in the rearview mirror. Paul was looking out the window, being strangely quiet. His eyes followed the clouds as they floated across the pink sky.

They eventually arrived, and by then Billy had gone into full overdrive. He was sure it was pretty obvious. “Come on,” Brian nodded. “The quicker we get out of the car the quicker we get this over with, right?”

Billy gulped as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Right.”

Paul was pretty close to fading once they got out of the car. “Remember, they won’t do anything to you, alright?” he said. “It’ll be just like last time, I’m sure of it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Billy replied as they went down some stone stairs to get to the building.

Paul smiled up at him. “It’s all right.”

Billy winced, closing his eyes tight. “I know.”

When he opened them, Paul was gone.

They weaved into the waiting room, and Brian checked in. Then he sat down, Billy beside him. “We shouldn’t have to wait too long,” he said. “They’ll probably want to get you back there quickly.”

Billy picked a hangnail off his finger, feeling his stomach churn. The single, bright light beaming down on the small room was making his head pound, and he ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, and he knew it was probably irritating Brian, who was trying to read.

Eventually, though, the same doctor came in. “Shears?” he grunted.

Billy shot up. “Right here,” he said, voice unnecessarily high. He heard Brian snort.

“Come along.”

The doctor was completely silent as they paced down the hallway, and the same when he sat Billy down in the chair. “You already know how this works,” he said. “This surgery will last about four hours...so that’s about eleven when we’re through. But you’ll be under the whole time. Won’t feel a thing.”

Billy nodded, unable to take his eyes off the silver needle that the doctor was attaching to a bag. What could be in there? Poison? Was he injecting poison into Billy’s arm?

“Ready?” the doctor grunted as he wiped Billy’s arm down with the wipe. “One, two…”

Billy felt Paul’s hand on his, grabbing it so tight he could hardly feel anything else.

“Three.”

“Ow,” Billy hissed as the prick turned into an ache. “I hate those damn things.”

The doctor didn’t reply. “You should be falling asleep in the next five minutes.”

Billy let his head fall back. “Thank god.” 

As predicted, he did start to feel rather drowsy after a few moments.  _ I can’t fall asleep, _ he thought, forcing himself to keep his eyes open.  _ I have to know what...they’re doing… _

Needless to say, that did not work, and he was out.


	34. Chapter 34

He dreamed this time, at least. He was back in Scotland as he usually was, and somehow he knew a lamb had run off from the flock. He was chasing after her through the thick woods in the valleys, trying to see her white pelt among the green leaves and bushes. As he stepped over a root he suddenly felt something prick his face. “Ow,” he hissed as another prick was felt. Turning around, he could see bees hovering over his head, buzzing and trying to sting him.

Billy picked up the pace and bolted, hoping he could lose the bees if he got far enough. But even though he couldn’t see them, they just kept stinging him. He reached up to grab his chin, trying to make them stop, but they just stung his hands. Irritated and in pain, Billy spotted a stream not far by, and without hesitation he jumped into the dark water.

Suddenly his eyes were open again.

He was staring at the ceiling, his mind swimming. Blinking a few times, he tried to reach up and rub his eyes, but his arm hurt, so he stopped. 

“Ah, good morning,” the doctor said, suddenly coming into Billy’s view. He was taking off his gloves. “You’re all finished.”

Billy groaned. “Ugh... _ god _ . What did you do?” It hurt to say much else.

“We reshaped your jawline,” the doctor answered. “There are screws in there now that will gradually move it to look more like...well. You know. Your  _ caretaker _ has been told what to do, so you will not have to stay here for any longer.”

Billy was still trying to register his words when he was hoisted up into a wheelchair and into the hallway. He shivered, looking around. The walls seemed to be closing in on him, and he grabbed onto the armrests as he was whirled around into the waiting room. A nurse was giving Brian a packet of papers.

“Well, he pulled through,” the doctor said, stopping Billy in front of Brian. “He was moving a lot, but otherwise there were no issues.”

Billy would have smiled, remembering the bee dream, but his jaw hurt too much.

“Alright, well. Thank you,” Brian nodded, pretty much emotionless. “I’ll make sure to do all the things you instructed. Goodbye.”

Billy felt a little warmer once they got outside, but his jaw was aching in waves. He kept reaching up to touch it, but that did nothing and usually just numbed the pain for half a second. Once they were in the car, Paul finally decided to come into view. “Well, that was certainly a circus,” he said immediately, scowling.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Brian said, eyes narrowing. Billy was still trying to figure out what part of the surgery could be highlighted as a circus. There weren’t any jokes. Nothing funny.

“They were so rough on him!” Paul said. “It looked like they were in a boxing ring!”

“What?” Brian shouted, and Billy flinched. 

“Yeah! I’ll bet you five pounds there will be bruises when you take those bandages off,” Paul answered. Billy could practically see the anger wafting off of him, but he was still trying to comprehend what was going on. “They’re probably trying to discourage him from becoming a Beatle. Maybe that’s why Maxwell was being so condescending at the dinner too. They’re trying to scare him!”

“Paul, hold on,” Brian said coolly. “You’re terrifying Billy.”

Billy was indeed terrified. About halfway into Paul’s speal he had realized what was going on. No wonder it was hurting so bad. “I’m sorry,” Paul said breathlessly. “But it’s true. I think they’re either going to kill you or beat you down until you can’t take it anymore.”

Billy let out a whine of paranoia. “But...but I’m not going to…”

“I know, you’re not going to back down,” Paul answered. “But...that means…”

“He’s going to  _ kill _ me!” Billy cried, tears coming to his eyes. Paul and Brian gave each other a worried glance as Paul rubbed Billy’s back.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he assured him. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t do that.”

“Oh, no, but he  _ will _ ,” Billy sobbed. How could this get any worse?

“No, he will not,” Brian said firmly. “Listen, Billy, you’re just a bit loopy on pain killers right now. Once you’re more clear-headed you’ll see this is nonsense. Maxwell will not commit a  _ murder _ .”

Billy tried to listen to him, but he couldn’t. He was petrified and hysterical, flashes of his planned murder replaying in his mind. As they pulled up beside Brian’s house, he was starting to calm down a little bit. But he was either insane or still high on medicine, because he couldn’t stop thinking about himself dying a horrible death.

“Can you...can you help him?” Brian murmured as he got out of the car. Paul nodded and supported a trembling Billy as they went inside. Catching a break between waves of terror, Billy vaguely wondered why Brian’s home—which was usually so neat and tidy—was in disarray. But then he remembered that this might be the last time he’d ever  _ see _ Brian’s house, and that got him going again.

It was a very slow trek up the stairs and into the guest room. Billy was helped into bed, still sniveling. “There you go, it’s all right,” Paul said as he fluffed the pillow behind him. “I’ll get you some soup, okay? You’re hungry, probably.”

Brian nodded. “No, I’ll get it. You stay here.” He left, so Paul eased down in the wicker chair beside the bed, brushing himself off and pushing his hair back.

“Are you alright now?” he said. “Do you know Maxwell’s not going to kill you?”

Billy wiped his eyes. “I...I think so.”

“He can’t murder someone. That’s insane!” Paul added. “I mean...the other MI5 board members, or whoever the hell they are, would never allow that! That would just make the Beatles get  _ another _ double. Do you see how batty that is?”

Billy nodded. “Yeah.”

“Now,” Paul leaned forward and inspected Billy’s jaw. “Let’s see here. Goodness gracious, they were rough on you. I thought they were about to knock your teeth out. And it looks like they didn’t put enough painkillers in, because you’re still hurting.”

Billy nodded again.

“Well, hopefully some soup will help, and then we’ll give you a pill,” Paul said. “I hope you won’t be in pain for too much longer, because the album’s almost finished, and I want you to be there and be part of the Beatles for the very first time in public.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at the time of posting this i have 999 hits!! thanks so much for the support! 🍋


	35. Chapter 35

The day passed by, and then the next, and then the next. Billy’s pain receded substantially, but Brian seemed to be too paranoid to let him leave. Billy didn’t mind much...he could go around watching Paul put the place back together. It looked like a tornado had hit, especially in Brian’s bedroom. But by the time Paul was done it was fit for an open house.

He didn’t stray from the couch much, even though the TV programs started to drag around the 2:00-3:00 hours. But he was appreciating soup more now, though longing for a good, warm flank steak. 

John and Ringo visited together. Ringo was terribly concerned, especially after hearing about the ‘circus’ of a surgery, though John didn’t say much about it and just told jokes the entire time, probably trying to distract everyone from the situation at hand. Billy’s jaw ached badly after that. 

George came by a few hours later, though he didn’t stay long. Billy noticed that he smiled more at him now. Probably just ‘cause Paul was there. Billy tried to convince himself that wasn’t true, though. Who would have thought George would be harder to befriend than  _ John? _ They were just two different people, he supposed. 

After a week of staying at Brian’s, he finally went home. His bed had never felt quite so good before. He took a four and a half hour nap when he got home, and then woke up for lunch and then slept for another hour and twenty minutes. Then Paul got him up and had him empty the dishwasher.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for knives, blood, and home intrusion in this chapter! 🍋

In mid-May, Sgt. Pepper’s was finally released.

Billy hadn’t expected it to really be done. But now he was posing for photos and the album cover and then bam! Every time he turned on the radio he could hear the album being played and talked about and  _ glorified. _ No one even  _ suspected _ that he wasn’t Paul. It was insane! He was overwhelmed.

“Yeah. It’s tomorrow and everyone’s invited, right?” John sounded excited through the speakerphone. “It’s at Brian’s house. Come on, it’ll be fun. Come on, you won’t even have to  _ stay _ that long.”

Billy sighed, shifting in his seat. “But what if someone...y’know, figures it out?”

“But they  _ won’t _ , though,” John groaned. “Hey! I’ve got an idea. Just smoke a bunch of pot and then you won’t even seem like  _ anyone _ .”

Billy scowled. “You know I don’t smoke.”

“Ah, come on, it won’t be that bad. You remember what happened when I gave you a drag,” John said. “I’d never seen you so...what? Happy-go-lucky?”

“I’m not going to do that. I guess I’ll just try and do my best.”

“Well..suit yourself. But everyone there is going to smoke, so...er…”

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Billy told him. “I’ll be there at five.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Well...I’m not a  _ drag _ , am I?”

“Ahh, shut up. Only I get to do that.”

“No one told Maxwell this is going on, right?”

“I don’t think so. They’d be pretty stupid to do that.”

“True.”

“Alright, well...I hope you’ll be there, Billy. Or else it wouldn’t be fun.”

Billy smiled. “I will.”

He set the phone down and glanced out the window. Tomorrow was the album launch party, and Billy was frankly terrified. It would be the first time he’d ever appear as Paul with the others in public, and he was sure he was going to slip up the second he opened his mouth. There was no way he’d ever make it through the evening. Especially considering the fact that there was still substantial swelling around his jaw. But maybe, just maybe...he’d get away with it.

Paul was also drilling him like crazy. He couldn’t get half a word in before he was quizzed. And he still felt like he didn’t know anything at all. 

The next day slowly crawled by, and before he knew it, the hour turned to 4. “Well, you’ll probably be alright,” Paul shrugged as he kicked the closet door open. “Just stick to your guns and don’t  _ worry _ about it.”

“Stick to my  _ guns _ ?” Billy groaned, pushing his hair back and trying to tame it down with a comb. “I feel like I don’t have any guns to stick to. I feel like I hardly know anything.”

“Don’t worry, it’s all right,” Paul repeated. “Just stay by John or Geo. They’ll know what to do if you slip up. And I’ll be there.”

“It’s not really the same, though,” Billy sighed. “Maybe you can just show yourself to the whole world. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Would you rather me be visible or you be dead?”

“Well, then we’d  _ both _ be dead.”

Paul scowled. “Don’t talk like that!” he said. “They still need someone in the studio, and they still have to be living. So you’re stuck for the next couple years, got it?”

Billy sighed again. “Got it.”

Brian’s curb was covered in cars, all of them about a thousand pounds more expensive than Billy’s. He smoothed himself down, pushed his hair back and very gently moved his jaw. He’d be alright. He  _ had _ to be alright. How badly could this go?

Inside was a madhouse. It was like an ocean of people, all talking at the exact same volume. Smoke floated up to the ceilings in pale gray ribbons, and Billy was at least glad to see that Brian’s house didn’t look like a pigsty. Well...not that it had looked like that before. But he was expecting it to be worse.

Immediately he found John, who (by prediction) was smoking, probably on his third cigarette by now. He looked pretty tired. “Are you alright?” Billy glanced over at him. “You look like you got hit by a train.”

John grinned. “I’m just fine.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should stop after this one.”

“Hey,” John grunted. “This is a party, it’s supposed to be fun. And this is fun for me. So get loose and have a drag, alright?”

Billy rolled his eyes with a smile. Maybe John was right, though. It  _ was _ supposed to be fun. 

“Paul! You made it!”

He turned around to see Brian coming towards him with a beam, a drink in his hand. “Yeah, I did,” Billy grinned. “The place looks great, really. Um...a good turnout.”

“Yes, definitely,” Brian looked around with a satisfied smile. “I’m glad. Now people will know the Beatles are coming back strong.” He leaned in. “With one more member, too.”

Billy laughed. He’d never seen Brian so excited before.

“Oh, you’re drink-less. Go get something from the bar, everything’s there.”

“Alright, thanks, Bri.”

He weaved through the crowds of people, trying to make his way to the bar, but every couple steps he was stopped by someone for a picture or an autograph. Billy flicked up on the -y every time. 

Finally, he managed to steal away to a smaller room. Not as many people were there, and he could hang around in the back. He didn’t know what Brian had made, but it was pretty good. At least it helped him relax a little bit.

“Hi, sorry. Could I have a picture?”

Billy glanced up. A woman was standing in front of him, about a head shorter, holding a camera. “Oh, sure,” Billy replied, and waited for her to finish snapping. 

“Hi, I’m Linda Eastman. I’m sort of an amateur photographer, but...uh...somehow, they let me in here!” she said cheerily. “It’s really an honor to meet you. I’ve never met someone so... _ important _ before.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m that important,” Billy laughed. 

Linda shook her head. “No, but...you are! I loved all the tracks on your new album. Every single one was just amazing! I play the keyboard a bit, but I could never do anything like that.”

“I’m sure you could,” Billy replied, unable to stop smiling. He didn’t know why he was so captivated by her. She was terribly pretty and it felt like the sun radiated off of her. “Oh. I’m B— _ Paul.  _ My name’s Paul.”

They shook hands. Hers was soft. 

Before he knew it, Billy was thrust into conversation with her. Linda’s smile was bright and the light danced in her eyes whenever she talked. It sounded like she really cared about everything she told him, and she was enthralled by everything he said. Billy was making a connection. His face was so warm he swore he was radiating heat. But he wasn’t even worried about being Paul anymore. If she liked him that much thinking he was Paul...how would she feel if she knew he was Billy?

As Linda took another sip of her drink, Billy felt an ice-cold hand on his shoulder. “Bathroom. Now.” It was Paul.

“I’ve got to use the restroom real quick,” Billy said, standing up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He rushed off and hiked up the stairs, knowing Paul would probably like it if they were in a more quiet setting. Shutting the door behind him, he watched Paul come into the light.

“What the hell are you doing?” Paul hissed, eyes narrowed. 

Billy swallowed. “What? What do you mean?”

“You don’t  _ like _ her, do you?”

Billy’s face grew warm. “I mean...a little.”

“You can’t!” Paul shouted before quieting himself. “You can’t do this, Billy, you just can’t. Because if you establish a relationship, it’s going to go somewhere. And then she’ll figure out you’re not me, and...and...who  _ knows _ what is going to happen!”

“You don’t think she’ll  _ tell. _ ”

“Of  _ course _ she’ll tell!” Paul was trying his hardest not to yell. “ _ Anyone _ would tell!”

Billy sighed. “But Paul, I really like her. Like...really.” 

Paul glared at him with the most ferocious scowl. 

“I do.”

“You just  _ can’t _ do this,” Paul sighed. “You’re...you’re…”

“I’m  _ what _ ?”

“Do you  _ want _ Maxwell to hurt you? Or kill you?” Paul said. “For being so nervous a few weeks ago you sure seem pretty damn carefree now!”

“What?” Billy glowered. “You said he wasn’t going to do that! And now you’re holding it over my head! And you said we can’t even be sure it  _ is _ him!”

“Well,  _ I can _ !” Paul shouted. Then his eyes grew wide, and he stepped back. He sat down on the side of the bathtub and ran a hand through his hair, then grabbed his sleeve and sighed shakily. It looked like he was having a breakdown. 

Billy’s shoulders dropped. “What?”

“I can be sure it’s him,” Paul said, so quietly he was hardly audible. 

“What do you mean?” 

Paul stared up at him and bit his lip. He looked terrified all the sudden. “That night…” he murmured. “When he broke in, and you had to jump out the window. I...I went outside and I guess I forgot to hide. Because he saw me, and...well…he was shocked, obviously. But I guess he put the puzzle pieces together.” Paul sniffed. “He said if I told you what he was trying to do he’d take out Brian, John, George, Ritchie, and then you...all in that order! I knew he’d do it! I couldn’t tell you, I just couldn’t!”

Billy’s hand curled around the doorknob, and a shot of anger pulsed through him. “You didn’t tell us? Even after we suspected it, you didn’t tell us? Didn’t you think…”

“I couldn’t let you die!” Paul cried, standing up suddenly. “I’d rather have you stay alive than have you know!”

Billy shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me,” he said. “I...I can’t believe you…”

“I’m  _ sorry _ , okay?” Paul said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...oh, god, I’m sorry, Billy!”

Billy swung open the door as it slammed against the wall. He was leaving.

“Wait,” Paul called. “Just let me explain, please!”

“You’ve got nothing to explain,” Billy growled. He whirled around and hurried down the stairs. How could Paul have done this…? How could he have kept that secret when it could have been solved? It wasn’t fair at all! 

As he got down to the last step, he suddenly felt a draft from the window. Puzzled, he looked toward it. It was open, and the curtains were blowing in the breeze. 

Brian never left his windows open.

A shriek came from the bar. Billy took a moment to register it. Head snapping to look, Billy heard shouts and screams as someone went down, bringing a glass bottle with them. Maybe that was how he knew it was serious. Heart beginning to pound, Billy felt someone bolt past him. He turned around to see them leaping through the window and onto the ground. 

What was going  _ on _ ?

Billy fought his way through the crowds of people, breaking through to see John and George crouched by Brian as Ringo stood overhead, trying to keep his head from falling back. Oh,  _ god, _ it was Brian. He’d gotten Brian. Billy fell down beside him and looked over the damage. “What the hell just happened?” he shouted over the chaos.

No one answered, but George growled as he tugged his maroon blazer off. Billy spotted a dark red stain by Brian’s left arm which was growing quickly. The manager’s eyes were glazed over and wide; he was going into shock. “Come on, Bri, you got it, stay with us!” John said, grabbing his hand. “I’m going to lose my  _ shit _ if you die!”

“He’s not going to die!” Ringo groaned, his voice thick with terror.

“I’m going to call the cops!” Billy stood up and stumbled over watching people, fighting his way through the kitchen to the phone. He snatched it up and dialed 999. All he could hear was his head pounding and his heart beating like a bass drum. Brian couldn’t die. He just couldn’t!

“Hello, 999, what’s your emergency?”

“Someone was just stabbed!” Billy shouted. At least that’s what he  _ thought  _ happened. 

“Okay, what’s the address?”

“Number...number 24, Chapel Street, Belgravia!”

“Okay, do you need police?”

Billy swallowed. “Uh, we need an ambulance and police,” he said. “Please hurry, he’s bleeding...oh,  _ god _ .”

“Okay, they’re coming as fast as they can,” the responder said. 

Billy bit his lip as he looked over at Brian. George had gotten his jacket around Brian’s arm and was trying to soak up the blood, meanwhile Brian was still in shock. He was staring up at something Billy couldn’t see, eyes wide and mouth open a bit. People were swarming the door, trying to see if the ambulance was coming. Some had already left, probably petrified. Billy hurried back over to Brian and took his own jacket off in case George’s got soaked. Soaked in blood. Billy felt nauseous. 

It felt like a millenia till the sirens were finally heard. The paramedics burst in, a stretcher busted behind them. “We’re here, where is he?” one of them barked before immediately seeing Brian on the ground. 

George and Billy begrudgingly stood up and helped them lift Brian onto the stretcher. He was blinking slowly but stared at Billy for a while, not saying anything as they pushed him out. “I’ll go with him,” George said. “Ritchie, come on.”

The two of them hurried outside and shut the door behind them rather loud, leaving Billy and John in the house. He hadn’t realized they were alone...why had everyone left so fast? 

Were they really alone? 

Everything felt blurry.

John was still crouched on the ground by the spot where Brian had been, his eyes glued to the puddle of dark blood. 

Billy wandered into the kitchen again, feeling numb as he grabbed some paper towels from the roll. Soaking them in water, he went back out and sat down, starting to soak up the blood. He watched as the white turned red in a matter of seconds. It was staggeringly quiet. 

“Do you think he’s going to die?” John murmured quietly.

Billy glanced up at him. His eyes were wide as intrusive thoughts ran through his head. “I don’t think so,” Billy shrugged. “Brian’s...strong. Where was the wound, anyway?”

“His left arm,” John answered.

Billy scrubbed the hardwood floor, trying to get every last speck out. “Did you see what happened?”

John sat back on his hands, shivering. “Uhm...sorta. I was over there…” He pointed towards the doorway closest to the window. “And I saw some guy in black come in, and before I knew it Brian was down.” His voice cracked and he stopped.

Billy stood up. “We should go see him.”

John glanced up at him. “Now?”

“As soon as possible.” Billy rubbed his arm. “It’s too quiet in here.”


	37. Chapter 37

About a half hour later, Billy pulled the car up to the hospital. It had taken him a while to figure out where it was, and he had to check a dusty map stowed away in Paul’s glove compartment. Speaking of Paul, Billy hadn’t seen a trace of him. He didn’t even know how he felt about...what had happened. There was too much going on, but all he knew was that he felt sick. 

They shuffled into the front office. A few people were sitting in the waiting room, and their eyes grew wide when they saw who had just entered. John sat down, still shaking, as Billy went over to the woman behind the desk. She seemed a lot nicer than the one at the MI5. “Hello,” Billy sighed, knuckles tapping the desk. 

“Hi, what can I do for you?” the woman said with a soft smile.

“Um...someone should have come in here not long ago,” Billy replied. “His name is...well...his name’s Brian Epstein.”

The woman nodded as she filed through some papers. “Um...Epstein, Epstein…” she hummed. “Ah! Yes. He came about fifteen minutes ago. I think they’re still patching him up. What are you here for?”

“We wanted to see him.”

“Okay, well...it may be a while,” she said, and Billy heard John sigh in apprehension behind him. “I’ll be sure to let you know when you’re allowed in. There’s probably a book or something over there, so go sit down and wait.”

“Thanks,” Billy said, flashing a brief smile before going back over to John. He was blinking drowsily, trying his best to stay awake. He glanced over at Billy before finally closing his eyes and taking his glasses off. 

Billy sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. He couldn’t believe this had happened. The woman didn’t seem too urgent with Brian’s whereabouts, so that probably meant he was at least  _ alive. _ How could he have been  _ stabbed… _ ? Based on what Paul had told him, Billy knew it was probably the MI5 or Maxwell’s fault. 

But they couldn’t tell the police. Because then that would lead to the whole thing about Paul being dead revealing itself, which was what everyone wanted to keep secret in the first place. Billy sighed, running his hands down his face. This was a nightmare. He kept expecting himself to wake up and be back in Scotland, but every time he opened his eyes he was still sitting in this bright but at the same time terribly dark waiting room.

Just then, he felt a head on his shoulder. Startled, he glanced down to see John’s mop of dark auburn hair leaning against him. Billy stared at him for a while, surprised that John would feel comfortable enough to do that. Then he sighed, closing his eyes. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he guessed. Though John was probably asleep. He might as well do the same.


	38. Chapter 38

Billy was woken up by a hand on his shoulder. Eyes opening, he jumped back and glanced up to see the woman behind the desk. “He’s ready now,” she said softly.

“Oh…” Billy sat up, smoothing his hair back. “Mm...thanks.” He looked over at John and shook him awake. “Hey...hey, get up.”

John scowled and then opened his eyes. “What?”

“He’s ready to see us.”

“Oh,” John grunted. He blinked a few times before gently putting his glasses on. “Where is he, then?”

“He should be floor six, room…” The woman flipped a paper over. “Nineteen.”

“Thank you,” Billy nodded, too tired to say much else. A brief glance at the clock on the wall proved it to be 10:27. Ugh. Billy was glad he’d waited, though. He and John shuffled down the hall and to the elevator. Billy wearily pressed the  _ six _ button and waited for the doors to close.

“Did she say how he was?” John said, leaning against the wall.

“No,” Billy answered. “I have to assume he’s at least stable.”

“We can’t be sure, though.”

“Yeah, I know.”

The doors opened to reveal a dimly-lit hallway. The two squinted to see the room numbers before John spotted 19. They huddled by the door, John gently knocking. “Hello?”

An exhausted-looking Ringo opened it. “Ah,” he nodded. “Was waiting for you.”

“How is he doing?” John said, pushing past him. Billy looked over Ringo’s shoulder to see inside, but he couldn’t. He nodded to Ringo, who shut the door behind him. George was out cold in the chair beside the bed, the curtains drawn and only the bedside table lamp on. Brian was either asleep or still unconscious, with your regular IV and bandages on his arm. “Is he alright?” Billy murmured to Ringo, who was standing beside him. 

“They said he’s stable,” the drummer replied, rubbing his eyes. “He should be awake by tomorrow morning. The wound was deep enough to cause…” He yawned. “To cause nerve damage.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “ _ What _ ?”

Ringo nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But it’s only a maybe. They still don’t know.”

Billy sighed, looking back over at Brian. He looked pretty peaceful, and he was breathing alright. It was a rare sight to see John do any physical contact with  _ anyone, _ but he was holding Brian’s hand. All of the sudden, Paul faded in a little bit, standing close to him. He didn’t look at Billy. He knew John and Paul had lost a lot in their lives...one more loss would break them. Billy couldn’t let them be shattered like glass.

He was so tired.

“This is the last straw,” he growled, an uncharacteristically loud flash of anger pulsing through him. “I’m so damn tired of this...we can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” Ringo said, and George’s eyes flew open.

“Maxwell. He’s pushing this too far,” Billy’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, targeting me was enough. But hurting Brian is uncalled for. I can’t take this anymore!”

“Don’t leave, Billy...we need you,” George said, his almond-brown eyes round. “You can’t go now.”

“I’m not going to  _ leave _ ,” Billy answered. “I’m going to stay and figure this out. They can’t go on like this forever.”

“So what are you going to do, then?” John sniped. “Tell the cops? Then the whole secret will be spilled.  _ Then _ we’ll be killed, got it?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Billy shook his head. “But I can’t let them do this anymore...I’m not going to live life in fear just because I’m too afraid to do anything about it.” His gaze passed over the four of them. “Right?”

George and Ringo shared a glance, and surprisingly, George stood up. “He’s right,” he nodded. “I’m tired of this too. I mean...who  _ knows _ what they’re going to do next? We have to stop them in their tracks.”

“This is insane,” John interrupted him. “We can’t do this...just the five of us, stopping the British  _ Intelligence _ Agency. We’ll be squashed like bugs!”

Billy stared over at him. “We’ve been lyin’ in wait for too long,” he said. “I mean...how long are we  _ going _ to wait before we pounce?”

John’s gaze dropped to Brian, and he scowled. “You know what? You’re right. I’m on board,” he answered. “So that’s it, then. We have to get the MI5 to quit it or else we’ll all end up six feet under, yeah?”

Billy sighed, staring out the window. “Yeah,” he nodded. “But...no matter  _ what _ happens...all I know is that I won’t stop until I’ve stopped Maxwell and the MI5 for good!”


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh oh uh oh pov change

It had been seven months since Paul died, and needless to say he had adjusted pretty well to the whole concept. Sure, it was a bit irritating to have the torn edges of his blazer get caught on doors and things, and the constant feeling of cold, and all the...well...y’know, blood, but things could distract him if he tried hard enough.

Maybe that was why he was constantly cleaning and dusting and organizing things. It was nice to have some sense of order in life, even if said life wasn’t his own. He knew Billy wouldn’t do it, anyway. Sometimes Paul was pretty sure he’d be evicted from his flat if he wasn’t there to tidy up.

And, after all, it was easy to get along with Billy. He didn’t need constant attention but wasn’t a lone wolf, he was nice, helpful, and grateful. He didn’t prod or ask too many questions, although he was a bit of a worrier. Well...a lot more than a  _ bit _ , but...you get the jist, right? And Paul could sometimes have his own issues that would cause him to be mad at everything for no apparent reason. But he and Billy were pretty much two peas in a pod at this point. 

Until they weren’t.

Paul didn’t really know what to say on the way back to their flat. It was about 1 am and frankly he was surprised that Billy wasn’t asleep yet.  _ He _ knew  _ Billy  _ knew he was sitting in the backseat, although he’d faded out almost all the way. He was going to respect the fact that Billy was mad. He would have been mad, too, if he was in...Billy’s current situation. But, a more selfish part of Paul knew that Billy couldn’t last for long without him. He’d have to get over his anger eventually, right…?

The second they got inside, Billy marched right up to his bedroom and slammed the door so loud Paul was pretty sure the entire street could hear it. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, debating whether he should go up or not. 

Well, there  _ were _ dirty dishes in the sink.

Turning the faucet on, Paul watched as the water filled the sink up, foaming and bubbling as he added soap to the mix. He always hated doing dishes when he was younger, because his sleeves always got wet and the whole kitchen area was cramped and small. But now that he was dead it was a bit easier to get things done. It was a bit therapeutic, the rhythmic exercise of grabbing a plate, running it under the water, scrubbing it, putting it in the rack to dry. Then doing it all over again until everything was neat and there were no stains. 

After he’d finished that, he didn’t really know what else to do. Everything else was spick-and-span (well...except for Billy’s room, probably). Paul didn’t like watching television, so...there went that idea. Reading was a chore. Uhm…

He liked to _ talk _ .

But he didn’t want to talk to Billy. He knew he’d be mad. He had to be mad, of course he was mad. Paul bit his lip and rocked on his heels, an old habit he was starting to pick up again. So...he supposed he had to come up with an apology. He’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ about fifty times tonight. He had to come up with something more  _ flowerdy _ than that.

_ I’ll just...improvise, _ he thought as he floated up the stairs. _ It can’t be that hard.  _

The door to Billy’s room was open about a sliver wide, but the light was still on. Paul scowled.  _ He should be in bed. _ But, no...he always had to remind himself that Billy wasn’t four years old. Very gently, he leaned forward to see inside. Billy was standing in front of the window, stock-still as he grabbed the windowsill. Thinking.  _ Pensive. _

Paul knocked very quietly, like he didn’t want it to be so loud Billy would hear. But that was the goal...wasn’t it? 

Billy didn’t respond.

_ Well, it’s my house too. _ Paul pushed his way inside, wincing as the door creaked. He had to get those hinges fixed. “It’s 2:30,” he mumbled. “You should...uh...probably go to sleep soon, don’t you think?”

No answer.

Paul sighed, standing in the doorway. “Listen, Billy...I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay?” He glanced down at the floor and waited. “It was...insensitive and...and I didn’t think about it. But...I’ll try to be more open with you, because I know we can be open with each other. I’m...I’m sorry. I’ll try and...be better.” Well, it certainly wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. Paul stared at Billy as he sighed, hand sliding off the windowsill. He turned his head just enough so Paul could see his eye. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he murmured, sounding completely exhausted. “I totally rushed into this. But...I’ve never done this before.”

“What?”

Billy shrugged. “I dunno...stood  _ up _ to anyone?”

“That’s sort of pathetic, Billy.”

“You’re on thin ice.”

“Sorry.”

Billy sighed, leaning back on the foot of his bed. “I mean...how would you even go about this?” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m not gonna use brute force yet. But I feel like it’s the only way…”

“ _ No _ , no, it’s definitely not the only way,” Paul held up his hands. “Here. The first step to any protest is peacefulness, right? So...let’s just try n’ reason with them.”

Billy looked at him for the first time all night. “ _ Reason _ with them? How?”

Paul shrugged. “I dunno. There’s got to be someone on Maxwell’s team that’s not entirely on board with killing every one of us—you, every one of  _ you _ .” It was hard to remember he was dead sometimes. “Not everyone in the MI5 is a cold-hearted killer, got it?”

“I guess so.”

“So let’s...I don’t know. Go to Maxwell’s, yeah. There we go,” Paul dipped his head in a nod. “Let’s go to Maxwell’s and see if we can talk him out of what he’s doing. I mean...he’s doing this all on a preconceived notion, right? So we just have to...un-conceive his notion.”

Billy gave him a quick glance, looking unsure. “Okay, sure, fine,” he shrugged. “But say it doesn’t work?”

“Well, then we’ll use brute force,” Paul answered. It was all coming together now. “You know. Take them over.”

“But it’s five to hundreds of people. How would we even start?”

“Hmm.”

“Safety in numbers, y’know.”

“Yeah, yeah...I know,” Paul replied. He watched Billy’s jaws part in an excellent yawn. “You should go to bed...you look exhausted.”

Billy nodded wearily. “Mkay.”

“Alright,” Paul stared at him, waiting for eye contact to be met. It wasn’t. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.” 

He gently shut the door behind him as the light flicked off. Well...now what to do? Being dead meant he didn’t really have to sleep, although he could. But he hadn’t in months...still, he felt fine. He didn’t even know why he had a bedroom at this point...the only thing he could do with it was clean it, but Lord knows that had already been done thousands of times. Still, it was nice to have privacy occasionally. 

Gliding back down the stairs, Paul fell onto the couch and stared out the window. Tonight...was terrifying. It was reminiscent of his own death, yet he wasn’t murdered. It was hard not to think about that night sometimes...regretting it. Feeling guilty, although he’d been forgiven by everyone. Everyone but himself.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> big ol tw for this chapter....this is kinda explaining how paul died from his pov, so....if u get triggered by death/car wrecks/graphic...stuff maybe skip this one 🍋

It had been pouring rain. The floodgates had been opened onto poor, unsuspecting London. It was getting heated in Studio Two, they had been there for eight hours in a row finishing up their album, Revolver. Paul and John were at odds, as they usually would be when they spent so many hours in the same room. 

And another usual happening, they were arguing about something stupid. 

“It shouldn’t be double tracked!” John growled as they listened to the instrumentals for Here, There, and Everywhere for the fiftieth time that night. “It sounds fine the way it is.”

“It’s my song, I can do what I want with it!” Paul replied. “The sound will be bigger if I double track it! It’ll sound clearer, more precise—”

“That’s bull and you  _ know _ it is,” John snarled as an answer. “It sounds exactly right with a single track. We don’t want vocals on one side and music on the other. It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yes it  _ does _ ,” Paul answered, frustrated. He could feel his face burning, and a jab at John rose up. “At least I don’t hate my own voice as much as you do.”

John’s eyes widened for half a second before they returned to narrowed slits, and Paul knew he’d crossed the line. Now his face was hot with embarrassment and not irritation. John detested his vocals and always muted his headphones whenever he had to sing. He cringed listening to their songs and would much rather have someone sing it for him or with him, unless he really liked the track. But nobody ever called him out for it because they respected it. 

“You know what? Fine,” Paul muttered, too appalled with himself to stick around for any longer. “Keep it at a single track, I don’t care. I’ve been here for too long. I’m going home.” Hurrying past John, he grabbed his jacket off the hanger and slammed the door behind him. Of course, deep inside, he felt awful for the snipe he’d thrown, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it. After all, it wasn’t like John hadn’t said anything rude to him before.

Outside it looked like the entire Atlantic Ocean had been dumped out onto the city. Paul was drenched from his six-second walk to the car. He started the ignition and began driving, trying to get as far away from EMI as he possibly could as fast as he possibly could. 

As he was about home, he spotted someone standing underneath a streetlight. It was a young woman, her blue dress blowing in the wild wind. Pulling up beside her, he rolled down the window. “Need a lift?” he called over the pouring rain.

She glanced up at him for a brief moment. “Oh, yes, please!”

“Get on in,” Paul answered as she came around to the passenger seat. She sat down with a huff and smoothed her rain-soaked dress down.

“Oh, goodness, it’s rainy out there. It’s pouring harder than I’ve ever seen it!” she said. “My name’s Rita, by the way. Thanks so much for picking me up, I…” She stared at him for a while as her jaw dropped. “You’re Paul McCartney!”

Paul couldn’t help but smile. “I am.”

“Oh my god! Wow! I’m in a Beatle’s car!” 

“Yeah.”

“Can I have a piece of your hair?”

Paul laughed. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“ _ Please. _ ”

Paul looked over at her and scowled. “If you’re going to be like this the entire ride, I have half a mind to drop you off.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I  _ would _ —”

Suddenly a bright flash filled the entire car, and Paul’s gaze snapped back to the road. Before he could register it, a massive truck was hurtling towards them. He heard the squeal of tires and then…

Nothing at all.

His eyes flew open, and he was staring at the dark sky. Rain was still falling around him, but not quite as hard as previously. He sat up, feeling the rough surface of the road under his hands. He felt awfully cold, and he wondered how long he’d been lying on the ground for. Blinking the rain out of his eyes, he looked around to see what had just happened.

His car was on the curb, awfully mangled. The front looked squashed in and jagged edges were pointing out. Hissing smoke rose from the motor’s area. The airbags had gone off, but if Paul was on the ground, then…

Slowly, he got up and brushed the dirt and grime off of him. He could hear someone crying on the other side of the car, so he craned his neck to see who it was. Rita was sitting on a bench, her dress torn and ripped and her hands red with blood. Paul stood there for a moment, feeling the wind blow through him.

Wait, that didn’t seem right.

He glanced down at the ground to see someone lying there as well. Puzzled, he studied their face. The truck driver, maybe? He looked almost unrecognizable...and then Paul grew nauseous.

It was him.

He stumbled back into the car, trying not to pass out. No...no way, no way, no way... _ no way _ he was actually dead. That couldn’t be him! He started to hyperventilate, which led to coughing, which led to...blood. With a groan, he slid down the side of the car. He couldn’t deny it anymore...he never was one to argue with what was true. He was dead.

After that he was entirely sure what to do. What was there  _ to _ do? He was terrified and confused and devastated and guilty. His last words to John—his very best friend in the whole world...was an _ insult. _ He stopped in front of EMI, but all the lights were out. They were gone, and they didn’t even know he was dead. 

He sat on the steps and waited for nothing. 

He felt empty and confused...and he hated this.

At about 5:30 the next morning, Brian came. Paul was too petrified to do anything but follow him around; it was pretty clear he didn’t have a clue what had happened last night. He sat down at his desk with a sigh and stared out the window for a while, before getting out some paperwork. He wrote approximately one sentence before the phone rang.

Paul knew what it was about. The moment Brian dropped the phone, the moment his face flushed white and Paul saw him cry for once in his life...it really hit. Paul was gone, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

He remembered sitting there in the dark MI5 safe house as John, George, and Ringo tried to figure out what to do without him. It was originally Ringo’s idea for the whole double idea, and Paul knew he felt awful about even suggesting it. But they gave the idea to Maxwell anyway, and he thought it was satisfactory. So the hunt began for a new Paul.

Maxwell would greet them at the door to the safe house, shake their hand, tell them what was going on (with the lie of ‘a qualification for a look-alike contest’), and then they’d go in to be judged. Everyone was awfully exaggerated, like a caricature of who he really was. Paul, who was sitting on the stairs the whole day, loathed every one of them. They all thought it was a joke. They didn’t know what was really going on.

Well, until Billy walked in.

He obviously wasn’t ready to see John, Ringo, and George standing in the center of the room, glaring at him. Paul remembered doing a double take...he was almost an exact look-alike. Almost. He sat down when they told him to sit down and didn’t make a fuss, just stared up at them with those massive green eyes and watched them prod and poke and stare at him. Paul knew from that very moment that Billy was the one, and the others did too. They told him what the whole thing was really about, swore him to secrecy, told him the schedule and sent him on his way. Then Paul watched them cry before he followed Billy to his old flat.

And then it all spun from there. Of course, Billy worried a lot, which was a bit annoying at first, though he could usually be consoled by pure logic. But Paul really loved Billy, he did, and he hated to see him upset. It made him upset. It seemed like...sometimes, they really were the same person.

But Paul didn’t know if he’d change it all. If he’d go back on that night and leave Rita standing in the rain. If he’d agreed with John instead of jabbing at his insecurities. If...he had stayed alive, and Billy would still be up in Scotland with his sheep and his dog, where he really belonged and was happy.

That was what they both wanted...or…what they had wanted before.

But was it what he wanted now?

Paul didn’t know the answer to that yet.


	41. Chapter 41

Morning came eventually, orange light flooding the flat. Paul was dusting the bookshelf, as grime usually liked to accumulate in the corners during the night. He always hated dusting when he was alive, as it always made him sneeze. But now he liked the soft brushing sounds of the duster tracing across the shelves.

Billy wandered downstairs at about ten o’ clock, and Paul couldn’t help but fade out a little. He still wasn’t entirely sure whether Billy was going to yell at him or not. He had the right to. Paul wouldn’t be mad.

He dropped the duster in the bin and floated over to the kitchen, picking up the pot of coffee he’d made a few hours before. Billy sat at the glass-topped table, staring out the window behind him. Paul poured the coffee into a mug and passed it over to him. “There you are,” he said, trying to act like nothing was wrong when many things were obviously wrong.

Billy sipped it slowly, posture getting a little better as he knew Paul was watching him.

“So what are you going to do today?” Paul said.

Billy’s eyes narrowed a bit. “I’m gonna go see Brian. John called and said he was awake...he’s been there all night.”

“Is he talking and stuff?”

“He didn’t say.”

Paul leaned against the counter. Billy looked tired, but not exhausted. His black hair was frizzy and standing up. Paul smiled a bit. He used to hate it when his own hair did that. But now it was always flat, stuck to his head from the invisible rain that was constantly pouring down on him. 

“How’s your jaw today?”

“Fine.”

“Hurting at all?”

“Even if it was, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Why?”

“Brian’s in more pain than me, surely,” Billy replied. Paul secretly rolled his eyes.  _ What a martyr. _ “I’m tired of things always being about me.”

Paul stared over at him. 

“What?” Billy gazed right back. 

Paul couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing!” Paul answered. He genuinely didn’t know why he was laughing. It wasn’t funny that Brian was hurt. “Nothing...it’s nothing.”

“That doesn’t sound like a real laugh,” Billy said as he sipped his coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s one of your stress laughs,” Billy pointed out. 

“I don’t have  _ stress _ laughs!”

“Yes, you do.”

Paul sighed, trying to keep himself composed. “I don’t do that,” he insisted. “It’s just...that your...your hair is sticking up.”

“That is such a lie,” Billy answered, smoothing his hair down. “Listen. We’re all stressed, alright? It’s okay that you wanna laugh about it. I mean...have you never been worried before?”

“Of course I’ve been  _ worried _ before.”

“No, but...really worried,” Billy answered. “Like paralyzing fear worried.”

Paul swallowed. “Yes.”

“When?”

“When my mother was dying. When I went on stage for the first time. When I  _ died, _ oh, I dunno,” Paul answered, avoiding Billy’s gaze. He knew he didn’t like it when Paul talked about being dead. He’d never directly said it, but Paul could see Billy tense up. Maybe instinctively. 

“Sure, but not for a while,” Billy stood up and put the mug down. “I’m gonna go get dressed. You can come to the hospital if you want.” Without another word he hiked up the stairs. Paul watched him go, all the laughter inside him died down. He didn’t like this. It felt like there was a barrier between them now. Paul didn’t seem like the dominant force here anymore. Now Billy was doing all the sabotaging and the planning (well, he was surely trying). And Paul felt like he wasn’t the teacher anymore.

At least the car ride there loosened some things up. Billy turned on music, but they rode in silence. Paul bit his lip as he watched the scenery fly by; all that green, all that light, all that  _ life. _ He envied it.

Of course, he’d never really been self-conscious about his appearance. Hell, he was called the ‘cute Beatle’ for crying out loud. Well...sure, when he’d been having a rough day and looked like crap, he might spend a bit longer getting ready, but it seemed like everybody just thought he looked good without even having to try.

But when he died...that all changed. He went from having a round face with good complexion to a very pale tone covered in cuts. And sure, some of that ghostly blood could be cleaned up with your average washcloth, but the wound was still there, and it ruined everything. Plus, he’d cut his lip when he died, so there was always a steady stream from there, same with his nose. And no matter how much he washed and brushed and cleaned it would never go away. 

To add to all the horror there was a very large stain of dark blood on the front of his sportcoat; Paul hadn’t checked, but he was pretty sure the main impact wound was there. It was pretty terrifying, but at least it was hardly visible, and he didn’t think about it if he didn’t see it. 

He had come to accept that this was to be his permanent appearance. Once, while Billy was getting groceries, Paul had seen another ghost. He looked like a regular man, except he was sopping wet and his breath wheezed in his throat. Paul had to assume he’d drowned, but he was surprised and a little comforted to see someone like him. 

That was the only ghost he’d seen, though. Either they were all in some sort of ghost-land he didn’t know about, or they’d just decided not to be visible around him, but sometimes he felt pretty lonely being the only dead one. Alas, he just had to stick up his chin and bear it.

Billy stopped in a parking garage and stepped out. Paul sighed, fading out of view as he followed. It was pretty easy to fade; all he had to do was will himself to do it, and he was gone. It took no effort at all. That was why he felt so stupid for forgetting to do it that night when he met Maxwell. He tried to convince himself that it was times past and he couldn’t do anything, but it still...well, it still haunted him. 

Billy passed by the reception without even asking for the room number. Paul followed behind, looking around. Now that it was sunny, the waiting room looked so much more...optimistic? He reappeared in the elevator. “How do you think he’s doing?” Paul murmured. “Okay?”

“Hopefully,” Billy answered briefly, without looking at him. Paul stifled a sigh.

They reached the floor and the doors opened. Billy stepped out. The hallway was more active now, with nurses checking rooms and patients taking a walk. Gently, Billy knocked on Brian’s door. Paul listened for an answer.

“Comin’,” John’s disgruntled voice came from the other side. The door swung open, and John was standing there. He still had the same clothes on from the other night, but his glasses were off. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Billy answered. “Brian awake?”

“Yeah. C’mon in.”

Inside, the curtains were pulled back, and more light spread across the floor, making everything brighter. It made it seem less stuffy than the night before. John shut the door behind him, and glancing over his shoulder, Paul faded into view, but only a small bit. He wasn’t sure if anyone wanted him here. 

Brian was sitting up and reading, only his unharmed arm holding the book up. The other was lying limply on his side, probably in too much pain to do anything. Brian looked very tired, but his eyes lit up when he saw Billy come in. “Mornin’, Eppy,” Billy sighed, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m alright, I suppose,” Brian answered. His voice was surprisingly clear. “A bit worn out, though.” Paul was pleased to see him smile, and he sighed with relief. Brian was going to be okay. 

“How’s your...y’know,” Billy gestured towards his arm.

“Ah, it aches a bit, but I’m on painkillers,” Brian answered, setting the book down.

“Do you remember anything about what happened?”

“A bit, but it’s fuzzy,” Brian said. 

“Would you…” Billy’s green eyes glinted in the sun. “Would you mind telling me?”

Brian shrugged, glancing back and forth. Anxiety was trickling into his blue-gray eyes; Paul knew the feeling. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

“No, I will,” Brian sighed. “It’s more important for you to know.” He took a deep breath and stared out the window. “Well...I was standing by the bar, pouring one of the reporters a pimm’s cup...and...I could have sworn I felt a draft from the window. But I’d been drinking some that night, so I thought it was probably nothing.

“I saw some black silhouette in the corner of my eye,” Brian continued. “It was quite indistinct, but I was sure it was a person, and they were wearing all black, which probably meant they were trying to hide something. But before I could consider any of that, I felt this awful pain in my arm. And then I fell over.”

“Is that all you remember?” Billy said tentatively. 

“Uhm...it’s quite blurred after that,” Brian responded. “I recall someone holding my head up, I think that was Ringo. And George taking his coat off. But I couldn’t hear anything.” He gazed down at his arm, blinking a couple times. “Well...I could hear one thing, actually.”

Paul hesitated. He hadn’t…

Brian smiled a bit. “Paul was standing over me. I don’t think anyone saw him, but…” He glanced up at the ghost in question, gratefulness in his expression. “I did. You were telling me to hold on, right?”

Paul glanced down at the floor. “Yeah. Well, I couldn’t let you die, Eppy.”

“You made me feel a lot better, really,” Brian said. “I mean, I was still in pain, obviously, but...if you hadn’t been there, I don’t think I would have held on much longer.”

Paul couldn’t help but smile back at him. 

“Wow, Macca, you’re his champion, ain’t you?” John grinned from the chair by the window, and Paul shrugged.

“I didn’t even think he could see me. I mean...I don’t know how no one else did.”

Billy stared up at him for a while before turning to look back at Brian. “Well...before all that happened, Paul told me some...less than desirable news.”

Brian looked concerned. “What’s that?”

“You were right. The MI5 is responsible for this. Or...Maxwell.” 

“What?” John said, shocked.

“How on earth would you know this?” Brian asked.

Paul went ahead and took the liberty of answering for Billy. “That night, when he and John jumped from the window…” he began, “I went outside and found Maxwell breaking down the door. But I guess I forgot to hide, and he saw me...I guess he figured out what was going on pretty quick, because he threatened me. He told me if I ever let anyone know that he was doing this...he’d...well, he’d kill you.”

Brian looked shocked, and he stared at the wall, eyes wide. “What an asshole!” John yelled indignantly. He then glanced up at Paul. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

“You heard what he said!” Paul replied desperately. “He’d kill you all if I told! And now I have, and...and…”

“Don’t go too harshly on him,” Billy murmured. “I’m already pissed enough. He doesn’t need two people reaming him out.”

John still scowled, and Paul sighed, glancing over at him. He hoped his gaze was enough of an apology. “So it is Maxwell, then?” John said as he looked back over at Billy. “Well...what the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Paul suggested going to Maxwell’s place and trying to talk him out of it,” Billy answered. “Y’know, peacefulness and all that.”

“Yeah, alright, but that’s just free bait for him,” John pointed out. “Two Beatles coming alone to his house...we could be dead by tomorrow.”

Paul’s eyes flashed, and he stared at the floor.

“Well, at least we’ll have each other to defend ourselves,” Billy said. “And Maxwell won’t try anything. He could get arrested.”

“He would try something on his own!”

“He’s not a complete idiot.”

“Well, he is for deciding murder was the only way to solve things.”

“It’ll be  _ fine _ ,” Paul cut in. “I’ll be there.”

“Are we alright to leave Bri?”

“Of course we’re alright. Nobody’s going to…” Billy shook his head. “Nobody’s going to hurt Brian.”

“Are you sure?” John responded, a hint of unusual worry in his voice.

“John, it’s all right,” Brian assured him. “I’ll be okay.”

John sighed and glanced back at Billy. “God, this is going to be stupid. But if it stops this madness...I guess we should probably take the chance.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for guns in this chapter!!

Paul stared out the window as they rode to Maxwell’s house. The apprehension and tension was so thick he could cut it with a butter knife. Paul was happy he was in the backseat by himself...that way nobody could shoot him any frowns, or worse...not look at him at all.

The house was just as gray and boring as Paul remembered it. The huge door was like a massive mouth sucking you into the chamber of darkness. Even Paul felt uncomfortable as they glided up the stairs and knocked on the door. He felt like someone was watching him, and he slipped from view. John seemed to be feeling the same way, because he kept glancing around with an impenetrable scowl. 

The heavy door creaked open, and the same maid with the big brown eyes was standing there. She looked surprised to see them. “Um...hello,” she said softly. “What can I do for you two?”

“We wanna see Maxwell. Please,” Billy replied, sounding terribly nervous.

“Ahh...uhm...I will get him,” the maid said. She put the doorstop down before rushing off. Paul leaned forward to see inside. There were even less lights on, and it seemed like your typical abandoned, haunted manor. Well...it was about to be. 

She rushed back not long after. “He will see you,” she said, gasping for air.

Tentatively, Billy shuffled inside, but John went ahead more briskly, ready for some action. Paul sighed.  _ He better not do anything stupid,  _ he thought.  _ But if I know John, he probably will. _

The maid led them into a room Paul hadn’t seen before...it seemed like Maxwell’s study. He had one light on and was filing some reports, it looked like. The minute he noticed them come in he stuffed them in his desk drawer. Paul felt a chill go up his spine as the door slammed shut.

It was completely silent as the MI5 agent and the two Beatles had a stare-off. Nobody really knew what to say first. But Paul was sure Maxwell knew why they were here. Taking a chance, Paul floated silently over to the desk and stood by the drawer. It was opened about an inch wide, so not long enough for him to pull the papers out. Something about them made him curious.

“Well, sit down,” Maxwell rumbled, and Paul flinched. John and Billy glanced at each other before sitting down in the two chairs in front of the desk. They were very stiff, anticipating someone to snap at any moment. Maxwell dipped the tip of his pen in some ink before setting it back in his drawer. Paul reached in for the papers, but Maxwell shut it before he could grab them. 

Apparently the stress had gotten to Billy, because he finally decided to say something. “You know we’re not going to tell anyone about Paul, right?” he said, leaning forward. “So you can stop with...what’s going on.”

Maxwell’s face folded into a terrible glare. “So he finally told you what happened, didn’t he?” he muttered. “I knew he would eventually.” Maxwell leaned back in his chair, his silver gaze perusing the room. “Well, where are you, Mr. McCartney? Come out and talk with us. Nerves finally got to you, didn’t they?”

Paul stepped back, trying to be as quiet as possible. Looking himself over to make sure he was hidden, Paul held his breath and waited for Maxwell to stop looking for him. “He’s not here,” John growled. A lie. “We haven’t seen him in...in  _ months _ .”

“I know that’s a fabrication!” Maxwell answered gruffly. 

“We’re not going to tell anyone what happened,” Billy interrupted him. “I don’t know what got you into this silly idea, but we have no reason to tell. Any of us!”

“Yeah, are you really that damn sadistic that you’d  _ kill _ us for our silence?” John added.

Maxwell paused, and Paul let out a sigh of relief. Maybe that would make him believe them! Billy went on, trying to encourage his point. “Just because Paul is— _ was... _ was helping me doesn’t mean he’s trying to get me to tell the secret!”

Maxwell’s eyes softened for a little bit before the fire came right back. “That’s a lie and I know it is!” he said. Taking advantage of Maxwell’s distraction, Paul crept toward the drawer and gently pulled it open. The papers were right there, so he grabbed them and stuffed them into his pocket. Now that they were touching him, they disappeared alongside him. “Do you know how much of Britain’s population would be devastated by the news of McCartney’s death? Do you know how many suicides we would have? They would be flying off the charts!”

“We’re not going to tell anyone!”

“You’re  _ selfish _ ! And just because you two little  _ peacemakers _ and  _ flower children _ can’t understand the impact this makes on the country—”

“What the hell did you just call us?” John stood up, and so did Maxwell, standing so close they were hardly inches apart. “Dammit, can’t you believe us? We’re trying to convince you we’re trustworthy, and you’re not listening!”

Maxwell suddenly grabbed the drawer pull, and it snapped off its hinges and onto the floor. Terrified, Billy’s eyes grew wide as Maxwell picked up a small black pistol, locked and ready to go. John stumbled back into the chair, knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrests. Everyone stayed frozen, panting as they stared down the barrel of the gun.

“Holy shi…” Billy trailed off. “Could you...uh...maybe put that down?”

Maxwell lowered it about a centimeter. “You’re nothing but  _ cowards _ !” he barked. “And if I have to kill every last one of you, I will.”

Paul winced as one gunshot rang out. John grabbed Billy and ducked as the bullet hit a lampshade and ricocheted off of it and into the wall. Paul stared at the hole in the wall, knowing his heart would be pounding if he still had a heartbeat. Smoke blew from the gun’s end as Maxwell set it down on the table. “Be prepared for that,” he said, glaring at Billy and John with eyes like ice. “Because it’s what’s coming to you.”


	43. Chapter 43

They left quickly.

Needless to say, all three of them were shaken up, Billy mostly. His hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t even drive. He’d never been so close to death before, and Paul could see it. Meanwhile, John had probably toyed with the thought before. But Paul knew he never expected it to really happen.

He decided to wait and tell them about the papers he’d grabbed.

“Drop me off,” Billy said as they passed by their street. John didn’t argue with him and stopped by the side of the flat. Billy stepped out of the car, but Paul didn’t. He wanted some alone time with John, some time to apologize. John glanced at him through the rearview mirror for a moment before driving onward.

Paul hopped into the front seat. “Are we going back to Kenwood?” he said gently.

John shook his head. “Nah.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to go there yet.”

“Where do you wanna go?”

“You’ll see.”

Paul looked out the window as John drove through unfamiliar streets and past buildings Paul had never seen before. Eventually the city thinned out, and they were on a single road driving past a massive field. John stopped at an inconspicuous spot on the side of the road and got out. 

Paul paused, puzzled. 

“Well, are you comin’?”

He came. 

John made his way through the tall grass, wandering aimlessly as Paul followed. He didn’t know if John even knew where he was going, of if he had been here before. The place was reminiscent of Strawberry Fields, the plain that surrounded the Salvation Army children’s home. Padding down a low slope, John seemed to be more sure before finally stopping at the next ridge. 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked out across the rolling hills. “Pretty good, eh?” he said.

“I’ve never seen this place before,” Paul replied. 

John shrugged. “Don’t go here often. Only when I’m real low, y’know?”

“That must be pretty frequently nowadays, then.”

John passed him a look. “D’ya think Billy will really...y’know, do it?”

“Do what?”

“Convince Maxwell to...uh...stop.”

Paul sighed. “I don’t know. It’s not looking up, really. Based on...what happened today,” he said. “And Billy’s never exactly been the bold type.”

“True. He’s gotten better, though.”

“A little bit. But every little thing wrecks him, y’know. Either that or makes him...do impulsive things,” Paul said with an apprehensive laugh. “I’m glad you two are...on good terms, though.”

John didn’t answer, just watched the clouds move across the horizon. Paul followed his gaze, wondering what to say next. When he was alive they were always talking, always had something to say. They never appreciated quiet, really.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Paul peered up at him. “You know why!” he said indignantly. “He was gonna kill you!”

“Well, it wouldn’t matter anyway, would it? If he did? He’s gonna do it already!” 

“Maybe not.” 

John sighed. “You’re a real clod sometimes.”

“Well...I’m not the only one.”

John smiled, surprisingly. “Glad t’know you still care, Macca.”

“I shouldn’t...really,” Paul sniffed. “I mean, I could easily just leave. Given, I don’t know how to do that yet, but I could.”

“You like us too much.”

“‘Cause you like me too much and I like you…” Paul hummed.

John glanced over at him. “Well, it’s true.”


	44. Chapter 44

It was quite obvious that Billy’s mental state had greatly deteriorated by the time Paul got back to the flat. No lights were on, except for his, and the door was closed and probably locked as well. Paul sighed, sitting down on the sofa and smoothing the cushions down. He wasn’t going to bother him. 

He was more curious about the reports he’d managed to grab while in Maxwell’s office. Pulling them out of his pocket, he unfolded them and squinted, trying to read over them in the dark. To his surprise and also excitement, they looked like plans. Game plans. Maxwell had been looking over the Beatles’ locations, their houses, the studio address. There were rows and rows of possible hit sites, agents who could take them out, ways to get them all in one place. It was typed, so it meant Maxwell probably hadn’t found all of this himself. Every page was completely filled. Paul let out a sigh of relief. If he hadn’t gotten these…

Would it be smarter to burn them or keep them? 

He should probably ask Billy what he wanted to do with them first, given...the lack of communication between them recently, but usual, headstrong and stubborn Paul was going to do it his way. After a bit of mulling it over, he decided to keep them. Just in case.

But then again...what if Maxwell broke into this flat? Sure, their address wasn’t on any of the plans, but he could surely figure it out, right? So if Paul burned them...he wouldn’t have anything to look for, right? But how would he know they’d been destroyed? Hmmm. Paul was going to ask Billy. It was the only way to know for sure. 

Getting up to take them to Billy, Paul flipped over the last paper. On the back, clear as day, was the MI5’s secret headquarters address. Paul’s eyes grew wide as he stared down at it. Wasn’t that supposed to be a secret? Why would Maxwell write it all out in the open like that? An uncontrollable smile spread across his face. Oh, yeah. This is getting good now.

Paul drifted up the stairs and by Billy’s door again. This time, he wasn’t quite as nervous about coming in, just a little worried about what he might find in there. Gently pushing the door open, he spotted him sitting on the bed toward the window, completely silent as he usually would be. “Billy…?” he said. “You alright?”

Billy turned around and stared at him. His face was blotchy with red; he’d been upset. “Not really,” he huffed.

“That was pretty terrifying, wasn’t it?” Paul shut the door behind him. “Never seen a gun before?”

“I’ve seen one before. Just never had one pointed at me.”

Paul went around the side to sit beside Billy. “Me either.”

“Well...you didn’t need to worry.”

Paul glanced over at him. “Well...at least one good thing came out of it.” He pulled out the wrinkled, crumpled reports and handed them to Billy. “You know those things he put in his drawer when we came in? Well...I...I managed to get them.”

Billy slowly turned over the papers, looking over them and reading them in silence. “What...what is it?” he murmured.

“It’s his hit list,” Paul replied. “Every location we can be found at. Every place he could kill you.”

Billy stared up at him. “What does it mean?”

“What does it mean?” Paul said. “What does it mean!? What do you think it means? I just stole all of Maxwell’s information about you! And look on the backside!”

Billy flipped it over. “It’s the MI5’s address!”

“Yeah!” Paul said. “Do you know how big this is?”

“Oh my god,” Billy sighed, grinning. “Oh my god. You’re...you’re the best!”

Paul beamed. “Just doing my job.”

Billy stared at them for a while, shocked. “What do we do with them?”

“That’s why I came in here,” Paul said. “There’s no reason to keep anything but the MI5 address...but I don’t know, I didn’t want to...slip up again.”

“That’s good, Paul,” Billy replied. “You did good.”

“So what do we do?”

“I’ve got it,” Billy stood up and opened his bedside table’s drawer, pulling out a notebook. “We write down the MI5 address and burn the rest. That way Maxwell won’t have any information.”

“Okay, good idea,” Paul nodded. “You write the address down, I’ll go burn these.”

“Wait, wait,” Billy grabbed them and turned them over. He was looking for any extra information they might have missed. “Okay. I think you’re good.”

“Alright,” Paul let Billy write down the address (he went extremely slow) before picking up the papers and rushing downstairs. He tossed them onto the wood and grabbed a lighter out of the cabinet. Pressing down as hard as he could on the buttons, he was able to generate a small flame.

Standing over the fire, he took a deep breath and let loose. 

Bright flames spread across the crumpled white papers, and they shrunk into smaller sizes. Paul watched the embers flick up to the top of the chimney, the papers turning black and shredding themselves. Scowling, Paul glared down at the cursed objects. You won’t get us that easy, Maxwell, he thought. Because the Beatles have a secret weapon on their side.


	45. Chapter 45

The next day passed relatively slowly as they just waited for nighttime. Everyone had been taking shifts staying with Brian to make sure he was safe and not lonely. Tonight it was Billy’s turn, and he was awfully excited to share what they’d managed to grab with Brian. 

He even seemed better from when they saw him yesterday morning. He was sitting up straighter and the whole gray sheen had gone. “Well...it still hurts to move, but I don’t think any of that nerve damage they were talking about will happen.”

“That’s good, that’s...that’s very good,” Billy nodded. “Well. John probably told you how the visit with Maxwell went.”

“He did,” Brian answered. “It didn’t go very well, did it?”

“No,” Billy said. “But...Paul managed to grab something from Maxwell’s desk. It’s going to be very useful in stopping him.”

Brian leaned forward. “Oh? What’s that?”

“They were some reports,” Paul explained, “or something like that. They had a bunch of addresses on them, agents’ names, places where we are...everything you need to know about our whereabouts, it was on there.”

“What?” Brian looked shocked. “Really?”

“Yes. They had all of our houses’ addresses, except Billy’s, the studio, restaurants they like to go to...everything,” Paul added. “But there was one other thing…”

Billy pulled the folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Brian. “It’s the MI5 headquarters address,” he said. “Which is  _ supposed _ to be kept hidden.”

Brian’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, that’s...that’s a national  _ secret _ !”

“Exactly,” Billy grinned. “And Paul grabbed it for us.”

“He’s a lifesaver!” Brian said. “Quite literally, too.”

“I’m sorry, but...when he stuffed them in his drawer so fast I just  _ had _ to grab them,” Pauls said. “And when John started getting riled up, I figured it was as good a time as any.”

“It certainly was,” Brian said. “But...what did you do with the other papers?”

“We burnt them.”

Brian stared down at the address. “You’re terribly sharp. I wouldn’t have even  _ thought _ of grabbing those,” he said, handing the paper back to Billy. He folded it back up and shoved it in his pocket. “So...what do you think they’re all for?”

“Well, obviously,” Paul said, “they’re sort of his hit list. Everything he needs to know to kill them. And we just took it away from him!”

“But there’s certainly a way he can get it all back,” Brian responded. 

“Not necessarily. The papers were typed, which probably meant they were given to him,” Paul said. 

“But you’re  _ celebrities _ ,” Brian pointed out. “It won’t be  _ arduous _ to get some addresses.”

Billy flicked the paper out of his pocket. “Ah, yes, but we have something they don’t.”

Brian sighed. “Oh, goodness gracious. How did it get like this?”

“Don’t worry, Bri. We’ll figure it out. Can’t possibly be  _ that _ hard,” Paul crossed his arms. “I mean...he’s one man. And we’re four. Plus one ghost, so…”

“Yes, but he’s a thousand times more powerful than we are,” Brian said. “And even though those papers are gone, it can’t be that difficult to get all the information back.”

“That’s why we have to  _ do _ something before he does,” Billy cut in. “and we’re back to square one.”

“Okay, let’s not lose hope here. Crazier things  _ have _ happened. And it’s pretty obvious Maxwell isn’t going to be polite, so...it makes it easier for us. He uses brute force, then we get the okay to use brute force, yeah?”

“I was  _ hoping _ it wouldn’t come to that,” Billy sighed. 

“I was,” Paul grinned. “ _ Finally,  _ something I can do that isn’t tidying up!”

“Okay, so what  _ do _ we do, then?” Billy said. “Because if we can’t reason with him…”

“Let’s set something on fire!”

“We’re not setting anything on fire. We could get arrested.”

“I just got the thrill yesterday, though. Seeing those papers go up in smoke,  _ yeah _ !”

“Okay, cross that idea out,” Brian muttered. “Well, okay. We have the address. That means we can infiltrate the headquarters somehow...I don’t know what we would do once that happens, though.”

“We could be cornered,” Billy added.

“Exactly.”

“So...er…” Billy glanced up at Paul. “Maybe we  _ should _ set something on fire.”

“Burn down the MI5? What would that accomplish?” Brian scowled.

“I dunno...getting  _ back  _ at them…?” 

“Then they’re just going to go full throttle! We’ll be dead by next week!”

“I’ve got an idea,” Paul said suddenly. “If Maxwell wants to take us out, why don’t we just...do the same to him?”

“What?” Brian shouted. “We’re not  _ murdering _ Maxwell! Dear  _ god,  _ boys!”

“We’re grappling for room here, Eppy!”

“Murder is  _ never _ the answer!”

“To  _ him _ it is!”

“Okay,  _ okay _ ,” Brian held up his hand. “Order, please. Goodness, gracious.”

“We’re stressed out, Brian,” Billy sighed, running his hands down his face. “We’re looking for answers.  _ Obviously _ we’re not going to kill Maxwell.”

“Here,  _ I _ know what to do,” Brian nodded. “Why didn’t I think of this before? There’s got to be at least two or three agents on the case, right? So that means they probably have more information that hasn’t been given to Maxwell yet.  _ So… _ ” He glanced up at Paul. “We can make both people happy here and set  _ that _ on fire.”

“But you just said we could get arrested,” Billy said. “So all the sudden we’re  _ not _ ?”

“We’ll cover up our tracks as well as we possibly can,” Brian responded. “It’s imperative that we destroy these, boys. Or else...well, you know.” He yawned and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Well...it’s getting late, and I’m rather tired.”

Billy nodded. “Me too,” he mumbled.

“It’s all right,” Paul shrugged. “I can keep vigil.”

Billy gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

So the lights were turned out, and Billy retired to the chair by the window. Paul watched him for a while; he stared out the window, the starlight reflected in his eyes as he was deep in thought. Paul wondered what he was thinking about. 

After a while Billy fell asleep, too, and Paul was awake by himself. He didn’t have to clean anything in here, that was for sure. Sighing in boredom, he grabbed a book from the bedside table and flipped through it. Nah. He never really understood why Brian enjoyed reading so much. It was a tedious exercise for Paul, having to tread his way through such horrors as  _ The Old Man and the Sea  _ or  _ Black Beauty. _

So, deciding it might be an interesting idea to attempt sleep, he sat back and relaxed. He hadn’t done this in a while. The first night he was dead he tried it, just because he was in a state of overdrive and hadn’t really registered the fact that he wasn’t alive anymore. But he couldn’t quite fall asleep, so he waited for exhaustion to settle in, but it never did. So Paul figured he was going to be quite entertaining to wrestle with sleep tonight.

Trying to make himself drowsy, Paul’s glassy eyes drifted over to Brian. He even wore a stress-scowl while sleeping, as was characteristic of him. Ever since he’d met Brian he was always worried about something. The man had a complicated mind. But as their success grew larger and larger, Brian felt more protective, more  _ defensive _ over them. Paul always loved to see Brian by the curtain, a very slight smile, the spotlight reflecting in his eyes. Paul wouldn’t know what to do if the Beatles ever lost him.

“Hm—” Billy grunted from the armchair, blinking his eyes open. He looked around before staring at Paul for a while. “Oh.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Billy sighed. “I guess so.”

“What was it about?”

“I don’t…” Billy trailed off. “I don’t remember.”


	46. Chapter 46

It was overcast as they drove home the next morning. Paul watched the patched clouds drift over the world. The radio was on a relatively low volume, and the drone of _I Get Around_ wasn’t enough to fill the aching void of silence between them. 

“Ugh, I’m still tired,” Billy murmured. “That chair is the most uncomfortable thing.”

Paul smiled. “Was it stiff?”

“Yeah,” Billy replied. “I never understood how people can just...sleep wherever. Like on planes? How do you sleep sitting up?”

“I guess it’s just a thing you get accustomed to,” Paul said. “Like...when we toured, we had to sleep _everywhere._ We only got a couple hours a night in the hotel. So I got pretty used to couches and chairs and...the floor, I guess.”

“That’s kinda strange,” Billy commented. “You’re such big stars. Why would they make you sleep on the floor?”

“Well, there was always a mat there. Or at least a pillow.”

“Ah.”

“In Hamburg…” Paul said, remembering something. “In Hamburg, we had the worst conditions. We had to sleep on plain mattresses. And...and our room was right behind a _cinema_ screen.”

“What?”

“Yeah. And get this—” Paul laughed. “There were no showers or bathtubs, so we washed up in _urinals_.”

“Aww, gross!”

“I know!”

Paul was pleased to see Billy’s uncontrollable grin. Maybe they were getting back on track now. “Where’s the grossest place _you’ve_ ever slept?” he said. 

“Oh, I dunno...your house,” Billy laughed.

“Oh my _god,_ you’re so mean.”

“No, really...uh…” Billy hummed. “I think I went camping once, and it rained overnight, so we had to sleep in the mud.”

“Ew.”

“I know.”

They laughed for a bit before Billy looked over at Paul. He exchanged a look back, confused on why it got so quiet. “Listen, I’m...I’m sorry for...how I treated you,” he said. “It was awful. I know you were just trying to...make sure nothing bad happened to us.”

Paul was stunned for a moment. “W- _What_ ? It was _my_ fault,” he replied. “I didn’t tell you.”

“But _I_ just made it worse,” Billy shook his head. “I only thought about myself. And I’m tired of having this wall between us that...should have never been there in the first place. I gave you a hard time. And it was unwarranted.”

Paul stared at him for a while, not entirely sure what to say. “It’s...it’s all right, Billy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”


	47. Chapter 47

John, Ringo, and George’s eyes were wide as they looked over the MI5’s address, all having a hand on the paper as if they didn’t think it was even real. “You  _ sure _ this is authentic?” George said. “You sure it isn’t a hoax?”

“I don’t know why Maxwell would have written a phony address.”

“True.”

The studio was dark as the Beatles huddled in the control room. It was strange to see it so quiet; there was no noise except for them. It was pitch black outside the window, and only one light was on in the control room. The MI5’s address was on the panels, unfolded and creased. The pen writing had smudged a bit, but it was still legible.

“So our plan is to set the MI5 on fire,” John leaned back, crossing his arms. Paul put the address back in his pocket. “Genius.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Billy smirked.

“A little,” John looked over his shoulder. “I think it’s an idiot idea to commit arson, but whatever we have to do, I guess.”

“I think it’s a bad idea, too,” George said. “I mean...you sure there’s not a better way than to set something on fire?” 

“It’s a work in progress,” Paul explained. “We’re not entirely sure we’re  _ going _ to set something on fire.” He smiled. “But we might.”

Ringo’s blue eyes flashed with worry. “I dunno about this one.”

“Don’t worry, Ritchie,” Paul smiled. “The sooner we light the fire, the sooner you won’t have to worry about dying anymore!”

Ringo groaned. “Ugh.”

“We just can’t burn down the entire MI5 building! Innocent lives would be destroyed,” George said, scowling at Billy. “You wanna be responsible for hundreds of murders, Billy? When that’s the thing we’re trying to stop in the first place?”

Billy’s eyes grew wide, and Paul was quick to defend. “We’re not burning all the headquarters down. Hell, we might not even burn anything! We’re just trying to figure out what to do about this. We’re sort of cornered here.”

“And that’s why you came here,” John finished. “So we could help you.”

“Yeah,” Billy laughed worriedly. “‘Cause you’re a thousand times smarter than I am.”

Ringo and Paul shared a glance. “Well, he’s not wrong,” Paul grinned, and Billy rolled his eyes. “Anyways. Geo, if you’re so worried about how we’re gonna do this, what do  _ you _ wanna do?”

George leaned back in his chair. “Well...oh, I dunno,” he said, pressing his thumbs together. “I’d have to think.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for.”

George’s almond-brown eyes gleamed in the lamplight. “I’ve got it,” he said, a grin sneaking across his face. “Oh, yeah. This’ll be good.”

“Well, tell us,” Ringo prodded.

George stood up and held his hands up. “Maxwell had those papers in his house, right?” he nodded. “Well...that can’t be the only stuff in there. I mean...in that study...who knows how much information he might have?”

“So…” 

“ _ So _ let’s break into the house when he’s not there,” George proposed, “and steal everything we can find about us. Then he’ll have to start from complete scratch and give us more time to...I dunno, think of something better.”

John grinned, clapping George on the back. “Hell yeah, that’s bloody brilliant!”

George looked surprised. “It is?”

“I guess it could work,” Paul crossed his arms. “Yeah, it could definitely work. You’re a genius, Geo.”

“Paul could go first, to see if anyone’s there,” George added. “But make sure to stay hidden this time.”

Paul rolled his eyes with a smile. “I will.”

“And then he can report back to us. Then we’ll go in and find the study. John and Billy know where it is. Me an’ Ringo will ransack the place, and...everyone else split up and see if there’s other rooms that might have something,” George said. “Then we get everything we can and get out of there. We can go back to my place and burn it all up.”

“Okay, sounds gear, but how will we know if Maxwell’s gone or not?” Ringo asked.

“We’ll have to spy,” George said. He tore a sheet of paper out of a notebook and plucked a pen out of the pen-jar. Drawing a sloppy square and a few bushy shapes around it, he began to label. “Here’s Maxwell’s house,” he explained, writing it over the square, “and there’s some trees n’ stuff around it. Ritchie’s small, so he can get up in that tree.”

Ringo scowled. “Thanks, Geo.”

“Just the truth,” George replied, but looked back to give Ringo an apology glance. “Anyways, John and Paul can go under those stairs, because they’re pretty tall and there might be a way to wedge under there. And Billy and I will go back here behind the fence to see through the windows.”

“How do you know so much about Maxwell’s house?”

“I drive past there on the way here occasionally,” George replied. 

“Okay, so...when are we gonna do this?” Paul said. “I mean...we can’t just bet he’s going to go out every night.”

“Paul, he’s an  _ MI5 _ agent,” George responded. “He’s gonna go out a lot. Let’s try tonight, and if that doesn’t work, the next night.” He sat back with a sigh. “Oh, god, I hope this goes fine. I hope we don’t get caught.”

“It’ll be  _ fine _ ,” John smiled. “Okay, so what time are we meeting?”

“Uhm...seven. No, six-thirty. Just to be safe,” George said. “Got it?”

Everyone nodded. “Six-thirty.”


	48. Chapter 48

Billy and Paul didn’t talk much on the way to Maxwell’s house, but that was only because they were nervous. The sky was getting darker as they parked about a block away. Billy’s green eyes were trained on the cigarette pack in the glove compartment, but Paul shut it with his knee. “No, you can’t smoke now.”

Billy looked up at him, startled, like he’d been caught. “Wasn’t going to.”

Paul slid outside and faded out nearly all the way. “Okay,” he said, talking loud so Billy knew where he was. “George said you and him are by the fence, and me and John are under the stairs.”

“I wish I could fade out like you,” Billy sighed as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket. “I’m worried Maxwell’s gonna see me.”

“It’s getting darker,” Paul answered. They started to hurry down the sidewalk. “If you keep your head low and don’t go by windows, it’ll be fine.”

Billy gave him a worried look. “If I get arrested—”

“Stop, I don’t wanna think about that,” Paul said. “And I don’t want  _ you _ thinking about it either. You can’t trip up ‘cause of nerves. You’ve just gotta have a clear mindset.”

“But you know I worry, Paul. It’s my first reflex.”

“Well, ignore those for now.”

They were coming up on the house. No lights were on, as far as Paul could see.  _ Good, good,  _ he thought. Squinting, he could barely see John under the stairs. Barely. “Alright, time to split up,” he said, slipping from view. “Good luck. You’ll be alright.”

Billy glanced back and forth. “I hope so.”

Paul watched him duck and hurry over to the fence, disappearing behind it. He drifted forward and across the very short front lawn. There John was, under the stairs, glasses off and in his hands. “I’m here,” Paul told him.

John looked around. “Macca?”

Paul smiled and faded back in. “Yep.” He inched in beside John. “Is Maxwell there?”

“We don’t know yet,” John replied. “But George said his car’s not in the driveway.”

“How long have you been here for?”

“About five minutes.”

Paul leaned forward to see Ringo up in the nearby tree, but only his silhouette was visible. Everything was going according to plan. “So if his car isn’t in the driveway, then...that must mean he’s not here, right?”

“Well, we’re just making sure.”

Paul sighed, getting up. “Well, waiting here is useless, then.”

“So where are you goin’, then?”

“I’m telling George I’m ready to go inside.”

Paul disappeared again, drifting over to the fence. George and Billy were crouched on the other side, peeking through a hole in the wood. “George,” Paul hissed. “George.”

“Hm?” He glanced up, looking around. 

“It’s Paul,” Billy murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going inside.”

George’s brows furrowed. “You are?”

“Yeah. His car’s not here, no lights are on...he’s probably gone.”

“Okay, fine,” George muttered. “But be careful.”

“I will.”

Paul went through the fence and up the steps. He stared up at the large brass knocker, taking a deep breath. He would be fine. Everything would be fine. It was eerily quiet inside. Everything was still and it felt like the world was holding its breath. There was no way Maxwell was home, and if he was, he was extremely good at being quiet. Paul’s skin prickled.  _ He’d have to be, if he was an MI5 agent. _

He went down the hallways, looking in every nook and cranny. No trace of human life was in here, not even a breath.  _ I think we’re good, _ Paul thought.  _ But just to be sure… _

After doing another round, he went back outside and rounded the four up together. “Nobody’s in there, as far as I can tell,” he reported.

“As far as you can tell?” George said. “So you’re not sure?”

“What? No, I’m sure,” Paul shook his head. “Don’t get all riled up, Geo.”

“Don’t give him a hard time,” Ringo murmured as they went up the stairs. “He’s gotten very stressed about this.”

Paul went through again and unlocked the door, opening it up so the Beatles could come inside as well. “Okay, me an’ Ringo will go up to the study, like we planned,” George whispered, as if he wasn’t entirely sure Paul had been telling the truth. “And you three split up, got it?”

“Gear,” John nodded, so the plan was set into motion.

Paul didn’t really know where to go. Tentatively, he approached the bedroom.  _ Usually people hide their most secretive items in a bedroom, right _ ? he thought. Pulling open dresser drawers and closet doors, Paul looked over everything carefully. He couldn’t miss a single item. Everything and anything might be something Maxwell was using to track them.

Sometimes he felt lucky to be a ghost.

Paul went over to the neatly-made bed and very gently lifted up the pillow. He heard something crunch, and getting excited, stuffed his hand into the case. He felt a piece of paper inside, so he pulled it out and unfolded it. “Yes!” he whispered. Holding it close to his face, he read it over.

_ 8:15 am --- to studio _

_ 8:30-10:35 --- recording _

_ 11:00 am --- black to flat _

_ 12:3 _

Maxwell had been cut off. But it looked like he’d been following someone, maybe Billy or John. Paul put it in his back pocket and checked the other pillowcase. A few more crunches, and more paper. It was some more times and dates, this time a lot more. Paul added it to his stash in the pocket.

The rest of the room proved inconclusive, so he went into the bathroom. Everything was neat as a ninepence in there too. Not a single bottle or brush was crooked. Paul checked the medicine cabinet and behind the shower and in the cabinets. Nothing.  _ Well, who would hide precious items in their bathroom…? _ he thought as he trailed outside.

He could hear bumps and crumples from the study not far down the hall. George and Ringo must have been causing some considerable damage in there. If he squinted far enough, he could see John rummaging through some suitcases.  _ Good old John. Never leaves a stone unturned. _

Suddenly, Paul heard a loud bang, and then shouting from downstairs. 

Panic shot through him like a bolt of lightning. Was Maxwell really home? Had something fallen? He heard a loud yelp and a couple curses, and he knew exactly who it came from.

Billy.

As John got up and looked around the corner, Paul rushed down the stairs, not even bothering to disappear. From what he could see, a few chairs and tables were overturned in the parlor. Just as he noticed it, though, someone slammed Billy into a wall. 

“ _ Shit, _ ” Paul gasped. “Dammit!”

Billy’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he noticed Paul standing there. Slipping out of view, Paul hurried forward and grabbed Billy’s attacker’s hair, tugging him back. He realized it was Maxwell as his face came into view. Feeling the aggression pulse through him, Paul shoved Maxwell into a bookcase, giving Billy some time. But what he didn’t know was that Maxwell had other agents with him. 

As he whirled around to see the damage, he noticed two agents pinning Billy to the ground. He couldn’t fight  _ both  _ of them. Feeling numb with shock and horror, he watched them haul Billy out to a dark van and shove him in the back. “No, oh,  _ shit _ ,” Paul murmured. Then his voice arched into a loud shout. “ _ Billy _ !”

Billy looked around fervently, trying to spot Paul in the dark. Before Paul could fade back in, the van was already driving off. Paul tried to follow after it, making good time before it drove too far off. “Billy!” he panted for air he didn’t need, shoulders heaving. “God _ dammit _ !” He fell back on the ground as he pressed his hands to his face. 

John, George, and Ringo came up not long after, gasping for breath. “What the hell just happened to him?” John gasped. “What the hell just  _ happened _ ?”

“They...they must’ve seen us, I dunno,” Paul answered. “Oh,  _ shit _ …”

“Where are they taking him?” Ringo looked off down the street, as if the van might magically appear and bring Billy back. “We have to find him!” He looked over at George, who was just shocked. 

Paul sat back up, still breathless. He felt dizzy and sick. Billy was gone, and Paul had no idea where he might be. 


	49. Chapter 49

“It’s okay,” John was saying to himself. “It’s okay, it’s okay…”

Paul was still finding it hard to breathe as they drove to the hospital. They had no idea where else to go. John was driving at speeds that were most definitely illegal, but Paul was in too much turmoil to stop him. “Oh my  _ god _ ,” he moaned. “He’s gone.”

“Don’t...just don’t…” John sighed. “He’s not gone.”

“Yes he  _ is, _ ” Paul said. “This is all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes it  _ is _ !” Paul wanted to smack his head on the dashboard. Well, he wanted to do a lot more than that, but the first option was the most tangible. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do, John. We have to get Billy back.”

“We will,” John said. “We will. Brian’ll know what to do. He always does.”

Paul could hardly walk as they made their way up to Brian’s room. He leaned up against John’s shoulder, who was giving defensive scowls to anyone who gave him weird looks. Paul just kept mulling over what they might be doing to Billy in his head. Where they might be taking him. How  _ scared _ he was.

How could Paul have told him it would be alright?

It was about 7:40 when they got to Brian’s room. He let them in. 

“Goodness gracious, what happened to you?” he said as they shuffled in, setting his book down. “Did you get mugged again?”

“No, no,” John let Paul ease down into the chair beside the bed. As John explained the previous events of the night, Brian’s gray-blue eyes grew wider and wider. When he finally got to the end, Brian looked like he’d just been told the world was ending. “Yeah, so...Paul’s kinda... _ traumatized _ .”

“Goodness, gracious,” Brian closed his eyes briefly. “I should have known this was going to happen.”

“We don’t know where he is, Bri,” Paul said, trying his best not to get choked up. His throat was burning and he could feel hot tears. “I don’t know what they’re gonna do to him. Technically he’s committed treason! We all have!”

“Paul, calm down,” Brian said. “Don’t freak out.”

“Why shouldn’t I? He’s—”

“Did you  _ forget _ what’s in your pocket?”

Sniffing, Paul reached in and pulled out one piece of paper. Unfolding it, the smudged MI5 address was printed across it. “You have the address you may need,” Brian said quietly. “You  _ have _ the secret weapon.”

Paul glanced up at John, who looked unsure. “How do we know he’s there?”

“Just try and see,” Brian replied. “I don’t know what else to do, boys.”

Paul wiped his face with his sleeve. “I...I guess we’ve just gotta trust you, Bri,” he said. “Well...come on, John…”

“Wait, before you go,” Brian said, and they turned around. “Please be careful. I can’t...I can’t take losing any more of you.”

Paul smiled over his shoulder. “We will, Eppy.”

It was about 8:15 as they finally got on the road. John had the radio down low, so Paul could lean his head on the window. He was  _ trying _ to relax after just having a complete mental breakdown over Billy. He had the MI5 address right in his hand. He was going to make sure it wouldn’t go anywhere.

John sighed as he made a sharp turn. The city had long gone by now, and now they were driving through the field they’d gone to earlier. All Paul could see was John’s eyes behind his round glasses, pushing on. He knew John cared about Billy almost as much as he did Paul, and even though he didn’t want to admit it, it was fairly obvious. John had already lost one bandmate...he could not lose another. 

Paul looked up at the dark, star-spotted sky. Who would have thought...just a year ago, he’d be in this situation now? As a Beatle, he never thought he’d have to deal with the British Intelligence Agency. But now everything had changed. It was  _ almost _ back to normal, but...still. Everything had changed.

Paul glanced over at John, the usual memories stirring up. When they had met each other, he was just as fiercely loyal to his friends. They’d met at a church festival in ‘57. Paul remembered shuffling into the empty Woolton church, feeling all the Quarrymen (the band name at the time) boys’ eyes burning into him. Of course, now none of them were part of the band anymore. They’d all dropped out when it got to professional.

John had a beer, though he was sixteen at the time. Paul knew from the very moment they locked eyes that this kid was going to be a tough one, but Paul was stubborn. He wasn’t going to allow any foul play. It was clear that John wasn’t as macho-tough-guy as he tried to put on, though, since he didn’t know how to tune a guitar and sang all the wrong words to the songs he was performing. Paul was able to break down his walls pretty quickly after John’s mother died. His had passed when he was fourteen. It was a deeper root between them...a sensitive one, yes, but…

John suddenly stopped. Paul looked over at him. They were in the middle of the road. “What?” he said. “You alright?”

John squinted as he looked over the address. “It says this is it.”

They got out of the car and looked around. “Well...there’s nothing  _ here _ ,” Paul said. He spotted a crumbling wooden sign with the number 48 printed on it. “Except for... _ this _ .”

“Yeah, 48 Bryard Path, Weybridge,” John read off the paper. 

“How strange,” Paul scanned the horizon. It was just a massive field for miles. But...wait. Something was barely popping up from the grass. Barely. It had a straight edge, and it was pretty long. “Is  _ that _ a building?”

“I dunno, I can’t see it,” John answered. 

“It looks like a building.”

“So we have to go all the way through that field?” John scowled. “Sorry, Macca, but I don’t wanna get my foot bitten off by some fox.”

“Okay, then  _ I’ll _ go,” Paul sighed. 

“Hurry,” John muttered. “This place is makin’ me uncomfortable.”

Paul floated down the slope and began passing through the grass. A pro of being dead was that he didn’t really get tired, so he could go as fast as he liked without having to stop. That was what made him even more guilty about not being able to keep up with the van that took Billy off.

Eventually he reached a fence. It had barbed wire on the top, which was a good sign. Fences usually surround buildings. Paul went a bit further and, to his delight, a relatively flat building was settled further down a dip. “Gotcha,” he murmured.  _ This has got to be it. _

So he returned to John, who’d gone back inside the car. “We were right,” Paul said as he opened the door. “It is the headquarters.”

“I’d say they hid it pretty well,” John said. He didn’t get back outside.

“So...are you coming?”

“What did I just say?”

Paul scowled. “So are you going to  _ drive _ through the field?”

John closed his eyes. “Maybe.”

“You sure your car’s gonna take that? You’re an awful driver.”

“Miracles happen, Paul.”

“Well, best get ready for a fender-bender with a badger.”

John laughed as Paul got back inside. He revved the engine a bit before tearing down the slope. Paul gripped the seat, bracing for impact as John drove through the tall grass. It seemed to be a pretty smooth area, but any moment could bring them running into a ditch. John pushed on, though, pretty confident in his little car. It didn’t seem to like the new terrain very well, and the engine growled and roared as John shoved on. 

After a very harrowing drive, they finally got to the fence. “Well…what now?” John said, looking over at a very frazzled Paul.

“Uh...I guess I’ll go in,” he answered. “I’ll see if I can find Billy...and you can be the getaway driver, since you’re obviously not afraid of driving through that field. Oh, and turn your headlights off.”

John did so. 

“I don’t want you visible at all,” Paul said. “And if you need to...get out of the car and just  _ run _ . Got it?”

“Gear, Paul, but I can fend for myself, y’know.”

“Just making sure.”

So Paul went off. The building was quite confusing, as it took him a while to find any door or window. There were lights coming from... _ somewhere _ , but he couldn’t find the source. He listened for any noise, but the only sound was the brushing of tall grass and the distant chirp of crickets.

Finally rounding the corner for a third time, he saw a bit of light on the ground. He followed it, curious, and spotted a window that was hardly visible. Paul crouched down to look through; it was dark inside, but...it was something. He passed through and disappeared.

He could hear the murmur of voices inside, and someone locking a door. It felt very humid. There was more light down the hall, so he decided to go that way. He could also hear...oddly enough, snoring. Someone talking fervently. As more light aided his vision, he could see bars like in a prison. Peering through one, he could see someone sleeping on a cot.  _ Was _ this a prison? 

Maybe Billy was here!

Paul fumbled around on the wall for a lightswitch, but before he could find one, he heard an all too familiar voice.  _ Maxwell _ . Distracted by that, he followed the noise till he got to the end of the hallway. His eyes were adjusting to the light now. He could see Maxwell’s tall frame standing in front of one cell. “I’m going to stay here till you talk,” he was saying, voice rumbly as he tried to be quiet. “You can’t stay there forever.”

Paul followed Maxwell’s piercingly silver gaze into the cell. Someone was sitting on their cot...and...Paul started to grin uncontrollably. It  _ was _ Billy. Oh, what luck he had! Paul slid through two bars and put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. He was shaking. No, he was  _ terrified.  _ Billy put his hand on Paul’s, sighing in relief.  _ Good. He knows I’m here. _

Maxwell leaned back, crossing his arms. “I know exactly how your kind works,” he growled. “Everything’s all fun and games until someone slips up. And then you think you can just go do whatever you want and get no consequences, just because a couple of people listened to your songs.”

_ A couple of people? _ Paul smirked.  _ Try millions. _

“But we’re all human beings here, celebrities or not,” Maxwell continued. “All of the agents here are not focused on your status, but your actions alone. And yours, Mr. Shears, is by far the most difficult I’ve ever dealt with.”

Paul scowled.  _ Just because it targets you. Guess we’re not the only ‘selfish’ ones here, _ he thought. 

“I don’t even think you care that you’re famous,” added Maxwell. “I know how you feel. You were thrust into this. You didn’t expect this.” He peered over at Billy, who averted his eyes. “I think you just want to go back to Scotland.”

Billy stared at the floor.  _ No, you’re wrong, Maxwell, _ Paul thought proudly.  _ Billy’s gonna stick with us. _ “Every time something goes awry, you think back to your sweet little home up in the Highlands,” Maxwell sneered. “Don’t you, Billy?”

Billy stayed quiet.

Maxwell huffed. “I’m going to get your files. Maybe then you’ll talk.” Stalking away, Maxwell muttered to himself as he disappeared.

Paul faded into view as quickly as he possibly could. “Oh my  _ god _ , Billy,” Paul gasped, pulling him in for a hug. He could feel Billy’s tense shoulders relax as he buried his head into Paul’s shoulder. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Billy answered. “I’m alright.”

Paul pulled back. “Are you sure?”

“Well...my head hurts a little bit,” Billy said. “But that’s only ‘cause of...well, y’know. Him slammin’ me up against the wall and all.”

Paul laughed, but it was mostly out of relief. “Billy...oh, Billy...I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he beamed. “I thought they were goin’ to kill you!”

“Well...thank god I’m alive, then,” Billy replied. “I knew you were gonna come back for me, really. I didn’t think you’d give up.”

“I wouldn’t give up for anything,” Paul said with a starry smile.

Just then he heard Maxwell’s footsteps down the hall, and Billy looked over his shoulder. “You should probably go,” he hissed. “He’s gonna see you.”

Paul glanced up. They had a little time. “What? I can’t leave.”

“Yes, you can. It’ll be alright,” Billy assured him. “I won’t say a thing.”

“But how am I going to get you out of here?”

“You can’t do it on your own,” Billy said. “You have to get someone else to help you.”

“But John’s here….he’s ready with the car, we can—”

“Just go, Paul, I’ll be alright!”

Maxwell suddenly turned the corner, and Paul disappeared in an instant. Billy was right...he couldn’t get him out on his own, especially if Maxwell was going to stay here for a lot longer. And they wouldn’t do anything to Billy...right? Paul bit his lip.

_ Okay, _ he thought with a sigh.  _ I’ll go and tell John what I found and then...er...we’ll have to think of something. It can’t possibly be that hard. He’ll be alright. _

Taking one last glance back at Billy, Paul passed through the wall again.


	50. Chapter 50

“So…?” John watched Paul return half-heartedly to the car. “What did you find?”

“He’s in there,” Paul sighed as he got in. “Maxwell’s questioning him.”

John leaned forward. “He is? So he can just  _ leave _ ?”

“No, no...they’ve…” Paul ran a hand through his hair. “They’ve got him.”

“Shit,” John spat. “Well...what are we gonna do now, if he can’t get out?”

“I don’t know. We have to think of something.”

“So we need George.”

“We need George.”

“Well, I’m goin’ home first,” John said. “I’m exhausted, and it’s quite obvious we’re not gettin’ him out of there tonight.”

Paul looked over at him, about to object, but he knew John was probably right. “Okay, fine…” he sighed, and John began to haul his way through the field again. This time their spirits were a lot lower. Kenwood was not far, as it was still in Weybridge. All the lights were out when they got there, as expected; it was 10:30.

“I’m gonna call Geo,” John told him as they went inside, trying to be quiet. 

“No, I will,” Paul replied. “You’re tired.”

John gazed over at him for a while. His caramel-colored eyes were glazed over with enervation. “Thanks, Macca.”

As he hiked upstairs, Paul drifted over to the phone. It had been a while since he called anyone, but he still vaguely remembered the Harrison’s house number. It rang for a while before an exhausted-sounding George picked it up. “Hello?”

“It’s Paul.”

“What?” George whispered. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Kenwood. We found Billy. He’s at the MI5 headquarters, but there’s no way we’re going to be able to get him by tonight,” Paull answered. “That’s sort of why I called, but...I’m realizing now that you probably can’t do anything till tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” George sighed. “Well...is he alright?”

“He’s fine. Maxwell’s trying to get somethin’ out of him, but he won’t tall, good lad,” Paul shook his head. “I hope he keeps his trap shut.”

“Don’t know what he has to spill,” George said. “I mean...doesn’t Maxwell know everything already?”

“I think he’s trying to get information that Billy doesn’t have.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Well...I guess I’ll come by Kenwood tomorrow,” George mumbled. “See what we can do. But I don’t have high hopes for this one.”

“I feel like an ant,” Paul said. “So miniscule. Like I can’t do anything, y’know?”

“Well, seriously, what are they gonna do to Billy? Kill him? That’s unwarranted.”

“Yeah, nobody kills anyone for home invasions.”

“Against an MI5  _ agent, _ though…” George trailed off, like he didn’t want to finish the thought. “What did Bri say about it?”

“He wasn’t pleased, but he reminded us that we still have the address,” Paul said. “Good old Eppy...he’s always been smarter than us, really.”

“Ritchie has his shift tonight.”

“Is he okay?”

“Ringo? Yeah, he’s...he’s fine. Well, as fine as he can be in the... _ current _ situation.”

Paul sighed. There wasn’t really much else to say. “Well...goodnight, Geo.”

“‘Night, Macca. And...hey,” he said before Paul hung up. “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll do something. We’re  _ always _ able to do something.”

Paul smiled. 

“We’re the bloody Beatles, and we rule the world.”


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of guns in this chapter!

It was raining the next morning.

Strangely enough, John still went out to the gardens in between showers. He always liked the smell of rain, or the feeling after it was done. Like everything was new, sort of. Paul didn’t like humidity, anyways.

George pulled into the driveway about 11. “I’ve been thinking all night,” he said as they came into the kitchen. Kenwood was a lot emptier now than Cyn and Julian had been here less. “Couldn’t sleep after getting news like that. And Brian told Ringo he has a—”

“Wait, wait,” Paul stopped him. “We’ve got to get to John first.”

Outside, rain still slid off the wet leaves, and the sky was overcast and pale gray. John was sitting on his favorite wall, the tallest one, legs crossed and staring out on the horizon thoughtfully. “John!” Paul called, not afraid to interrupt his mood. “Geo’s here.”

John glanced up and turned around, squinting. “What?”

“George is here, you clod,” Paul replied as he scaled the wall, heaving himself up next to John. George followed. “Remember…? To help us?”

“Yeah, I remember,” John answered. He was still coming out of his fog. “Uh...what’dja think of, George?”

“Okay, so here’s the plan, right?” George began, putting his legs up on the wall. “I drove by the address today. I could see more, ‘cause it wasn’t dark. John, Paul told me you were in the car. So since you feel safe enough to drive through that field, you can keep that job. Paul, you go in and grab the keys to Billy’s cell. I’ll be waiting by the window, and we’ll break it open so Billy can come out. Ringo said his gardening company has a chainsaw...so he can cut a hole through the fence where we can all climb out, got it?”

“Okay, gear plan, George, but that’s not gonna stop Maxwell,” John pointed out. “Sure, it’ll get him out, but... _ temporarily. _ We’ve gotta kill two birds with one stone.”

“But our main  _ priority _ is Billy right now,” George said back. “We can worry about that later.” 

“Ok _ ay _ , sure,” Paul said, “but what were you saying Bri had?”

“A  _ gun _ ,” George grinned. “You know...that one he got for his birthday? Or… Christmas, or whatever? Well, it’s real, and it  _ works _ .”

“Really?”

“What on  _ earth  _ would we need that for?” John scowled. 

“It’s a  _ just-in-case _ sort of thing,” George said. “But Brian has it, and he said he’ll bring it if he needs to.”

“He’s  _ coming _ ?” John’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, hell  _ no. _ ”

“Hell  _ yes, _ we need him,” George insisted. “It’s only his arm that was hurt, and he said he already feels a lot better. That attack was a while ago—”

“It was  _ two weeks  _ ago, Geo. And how do you think you’re going to get him out of that hospital?”

“We’ll just tell them we’re going for a walk. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Harboring a hospital patient,” Paul snickered.

George glanced over at him before looking back at John. “He  _ wants _ to, that’s all,” he said. “And so that means he’s gonna come. You said Brian’s smarter than all of us, so why would he come if he knew he’d be getting hurt?”

John was quiet, knowing he’d been beat.

“So when are we gonna do this?” Paul said, glancing between the two of them.

“Nighttime would be best, since it’s dark and John won’t be seen if he turns his headlights off,” George said. “Besides, that gives us enough time to get the gun and the chainsaw.”

“This sounds pleasant,” Paul said sarcastically.

“Well, it’s what we gotta to help Billy,” George replied as he stood up. “And if it takes cutting through a little fence we can do it.”

“Not if it takes  _ murdering _ someone,” muttered John. 

“Like I said, that’s a  _ maybe _ thing,” George said. “Besides, I don’t think  _ he _ wants to use it anyway. There’s about a 90% chance we won’t use it.”

“And the 10% leaves us with a homicide to clean up.”

“Quit it, John, you won’t even be shooting it,” Paul snarked, and John glared at him. “Anyway, what will we do till then? We’ve got hours before it gets dark.”

“It’ll take us a bit to even get there, too,” George added, standing up. He rocked back and forth on the edge of the wall, staring down at the grass. “So we might wanna leave at...eh...four? Doesn’t matter, though.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t, but I’m worried about Billy,” Paul said. “Dunno what they’re doing down there. And I know he was terrified last night.”

“Does he know we’re tryin’ to get him out?”

“Of course he does,” Paul scowled. “I told him last night that it was happening. I tried to get him out on my own, but...he knew I wasn’t going to be able to.”

“And that’s why you called me last night. See, I knew you appreciated me, Macca.”

Paul stared up at him. “You thought I  _ didn’t _ ?” he said indignantly.

“No, no,” George was smiling.

“Hey, no tell me what you mean.”

George shrugged. “Nothin’, Paul. Just tryna get a rise outta you.”

Paul didn’t believe him.


	52. Chapter 52

The hours ticked by, and Paul waited. He was terrified but excited, determined and apprehensive, mostly. He’d never done anything like this before. Fighting against the government was something he thought he’d never have to do. Especially when he was already dead. But...1967 had been a strange year for many people.

At about two, George went off to get Brian with Ringo. John and Paul followed not long after to meet them at the hospital. And from there, they’d get to the MI5 headquarters. Just thinking about it made Paul clam up. He wasn’t scared for himself (well, maybe a little bit, instinctively), but the other still living people in the car. He didn’t want anyone to end up like him.

John was unusually quiet, his eyes trained on the road. Paul knew he was worried too, although he wasn’t going to admit it. He wasn’t happy about any of this, but he cared far more about Billy’s safety than his own. Paul couldn’t help but smile at that. Last November, he would have been recoiling at the thought of even saying two words to him.

They pulled up in the parking garage of the hospital and waited for Brian, George, and Ringo. John’s hand was  _ very _ close to the box of cigarettes. But Paul was going to keep him away from those; everybody needed their wits about them today, and even a little bit of puffing would fog something up at least a little bit. Sure, all John had to do was sit in the  _ car, _ but...still. Things could happen.

Brian came out first, steps assured, fully dressed as per usual. George and Ringo slinked out behind him. George’s gaze flicked back and forth, like Maxwell was going to jump out and spring on them at any second. The three of them piled in the back, and John set off. “I still can’t believe you wanted to come, Bri,” he muttered as he pulled the stick shift back. “Thought you’d be too worried.”

Brian straightened his tie and shrugged. “When I heard...y’know, about Billy, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I figured I wouldn’t find any closure if I didn’t go,” he said. “Besides, that room was getting stuffy anyway.”

“But your arm…”

“My arm is fine,” Brian said. “I can move it alright and it barely hurts. Now, I don’t want any of you trying to keep me  _ safer _ because of this...Billy’s escape is much more important than any of what happened to me.”

“It’s only  _ natural, _ Bri,” Ringo reasoned. “It hasn’t even fully healed yet.”

“I’m  _ alright, _ Ritchie,” Brian insisted. “The events of today may determine the rest of our careers...the rest of our  _ lives.  _ It’s imperative we do this correctly.” He glanced out the window, the fading sunlight reflecting in his blue-gray eyes. “Or else.”


	53. Chapter 53

A few stars were starting to appear as John’s car pulled up beside the crumbling 48 sign. George got out first, going over the plan. “John waits outside the fence. Ritchie bores a hole through it, and I’ll be by the window. Paul, you go in and get the keys and Billy. And Brian...er...you can be a lookout.”

“How will I signal danger, then?” Brian asked as he brushed himself off.

“There’s a hill not far off the field. You can wave your better arm if you see someone coming,” George answered, not missing a beat. Paul had never realized how good he was at making plans. “But make sure it’s not one of us. That would lead to a mess.”

“Right.”

“Okay,” George sighed as he glanced around the five of them. “Ready?”

A collective nod.

“Okay,  _ go _ .”

As John got back in the car, Paul began making his way down the hill and into the field. He disappeared just in case some agents were keeping guard and tried not to go too fast. But thoughts of Billy filled his head, too many to ignore, and he picked up the pace. The quicker he got those keys, the quicker they’d be out of there. And the quicker they were out of there...the quicker Paul wouldn’t have to worry about Billy anymore.

He passed through the fence, glancing up disdainfully at the barbed wire. Thank god they had a chainsaw, though Paul wasn’t entirely sure if it was going to work. He sighed.  _ I wish everyone was a ghost, _ he thought.  _ Then we wouldn’t have to worry about fences and walls and doors. But...then again, I suppose that’s what keeps everyone safe. _

Circling around the building a few times, Paul tried to spot the inconspicuous window near the ground. The light wasn’t on, which made it a bit harder to spot, and he had to get down lower to see if anything was there. Suddenly, bright headlights flashed behind him, and he glanced up, eyes wide.

It was just John’s car, though. Paul narrowed his eyes. “Turn the damn headlights off!” he hissed. John, looking up unsuspectedly, flicked them off. Paul slid around the side of the building before he finally noticed the window at the very edge of the wall. “Found it!” he said triumphantly. Crouching down low, he passed through and landed in some empty cell. 

He got up and brushed himself off. “Okay,” he whispered. He went in between the cell bars and into the humid hallway. It was like a maze in there, and Paul didn’t know if he was looking for the keys or Billy. Either one was going to be awfully hard to find. He decided to go for Billy first. 

It was quiet, unlike the night before. It made it a lot more difficult to find anything, so Paul just squinted and tried to see as best he could into each cell. He knew Billy was inside one at the end, so that was a pointer. And it had a window too, but it didn’t look out at anything. Suddenly, Paul heard footsteps, and he froze up. A dark figure turned the corner and whisked by him; Paul sighed in relief. It was only an MI5 guard. But Paul could see a ring of jingling keys on his belt.  _ Good to know, _ he thought. 

It felt like years before he finally got to the right one. Billy was asleep on his cot, balled up like a woodlice. Paul went in and huddled beside him, shaking his shoulder ever so slightly. It took Billy a little bit to open his eyes, but when he finally did, Paul could see fear set in. He turned around. “Oh,  _ god, _ what is it now…?” he moaned.

“Shut up,” Paul whispered. “It’s me.”

Billy’s bright green eyes lit up. “Paul?” he murmured.

“Yes, and I’ve brought the others,” Paul answered, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was nearby. He faded in a little bit, just to make Billy more comfortable. “We’ve got a set plan, but I’ve got to get the keys first.”

“Some of the guards have keys,” Billy whispered as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know which keys open which cells, though.”

“Okay. George is by the window. We’re gonna get you out of here,” Paul assured him. “Just...get back down and pretend like nothing happened. I’ll get the keys, okay?”

Billy nodded. “Sure.”

He laid back down as Paul stood up again. These keys couldn’t possibly be that hard to take.  _ Now...which way did that guard go again?  _ Paul listened hard to hear them, and he could barely feel them as he stood on the ground. Deciding to make a vague guess, he took a sharp turn and marched down the hallways. This place was the most confusing building he’d ever  _ seen, _ and he’d been in hundreds of theaters and studios and offices. The MI5 was smart, though. If anyone tried to escape, there was no way they would get out of here. And that was what made Paul's job so hard.

Finally, Paul turned the corner and saw the guard about seven feet ahead of him. Slowly, he prowled after him, stalking him like a lion to its prey. The keys were  _ right  _ there. Just  _ right… _

Paul reached his hand out and grabbed the end of one key, hoping he could just snatch them off. He tugged hard, and the keyring snapped off. Not without the guard noticing, though. He whirled around, glaring back and forth. Paul stayed silent, waiting for him to move on. He hadn’t even noticed the keys were gone. 

Suspicion in his eyes, the guard turned on his heels and tentatively kept walking. Paul grinned and ran back the way he came, holding the keys in his grasp. The first step was done; now all they had to do was get Billy out and they were home free. Speaking of which, Paul was coming up on him now.

“Got ‘em,” he whispered. “Now I’ve just gotta see which is which…”

Paul tried the first key on the lock. It was a dud. Then the next. Didn’t work. He kept trying and trying, but none lined up with the lock. Paul was beginning to wonder if he should just try and break the lock with his bare hands, but he knew that wasn’t gonna work. He finally got to the last key and shoved it in; thankfully, the door unlocked and swung open. 

Billy’s head popped up, and he stared at the cell door. 

“Come on, come on!” Paul hissed. 

Billy came. He strode out of the cell as Paul locked it behind him. “Okay,” he said as he made himself a little visible. “Now we’ve just gotta find the window.” He glanced up at Billy. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Billy assured him. “Let’s just hurry before someone hears us.”

Paul smirked but hurried on. Fortunately, there weren’t many windows here, but each one was identical. Sighing, Paul weaved around the halls, trying to find which one he’d come in through. “Ugh,” he muttered. “I don’t remember…”

“Does it matter?” Billy whispered. “I mean, we can just go around the side…”

“Never mind, there it is,” Paul grinned, and Billy tried to stifle a smile. “Knock on the window for me, I can’t reach it.”

Billy rapped on it a few times, not too loud. 

He wasn’t expecting a rock to come flying through.

The sound of shattering glass rang through the halls, and Paul could hear someone start walking faster. “Hurry!” he hissed. George, on the other side of the window, grabbed Billy’s arms and heaved him up, Paul helping from behind. With a grunt of effort Billy finally came out the other side, and he and George hurried off right as the guard rushed over. Just in time, Paul disappeared.

The guard stopped by the window and pulled out his radio. “We’ve got an escape on ground floor,” he muttered. “We’ve got an escape on ground floor, over.”

Paul passed through the wall. They had to go  _ now. _

“Come on!” he called as George and Billy hurried toward the fence. “They’re coming!”

A bright light from the top of the headquarters suddenly shone down on the field, illuminating everything in its path. George managed to find the hole Ringo had made in the fence and he shoved Billy through, ducking into the tall grass to avoid being spotted by the light. “Where the hell is John’s car?” Paul said, helping him up.

“I don’t know, but he’s not in there!” George said. 

Paul groaned as he searched the horizon for the car. Sure enough, the door was wide open and the passenger seat was empty. Somebody must have found John...hopefully he had run! Brian wasn’t on his hill either; maybe they’d grabbed Ringo and hurried away.

Paul helped George and Billy keep low through the grass, but panic was slowly rising as he looked for John, Brian, and Ringo. There was a good chance the MI5 had found them! Did that mean they would have to do this all over again? Paul heaved a sigh and kept going. He had to worry about the people he was with right now!

And that was when the first gunshots rang out. 


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of gunshots!! 🍋

At first he wasn’t entirely sure if they  _ were _ gunshots. He’d never heard them before, especially not at such close range. But somehow, Billy knew. “They’re shooting at us,” he said, eyes wide. “We have to keep moving!”

“What the hell is that going to accomplish?” George growled as they kept going. 

Just then, Paul spotted an auburn-topped head moving through the grass.  _ John. _ “We’re right here,” he huffed. Ringo and Brian spread out behind him. “Did you get him out?”

“Yeah, we’re trying to get to the road,” Paul replied. He noticed one of John’s lenses was cracked. “Did they get you?”

“No, but nearly,” Ringo answered for him. 

“Well, hurry up!” Paul pointed in the direction where George and Billy had gone. “No time to waste!”

John nodded and the three of them took off. Paul stayed there for a moment, trying to see where the bullets were coming from. Loud cracking sounds exploded all around Paul, and he could see dirt spray up where the bullets were hitting. The MI5 was getting serious. But if they got to the road, hopefully they would be too far away to shoot at. 

Instantly, Paul heard a deafening  _ boom _ behind him.

Whirling around, he saw smoke pouring across the grass in thick clouds. That wasn’t the work of a gun. He hurried over, pushing through the smoke. A battered shell was on the ground, but Paul had seen enough action movies to know exactly what it was.

A  _ grenade. _

Eyes wide, Paul glanced up at the MI5 building. They  _ really _ weren’t messing around now! He had to warn the others; grenades could do far more damage to more people. Hurtling through the grass, Paul eventually caught up with Ringo and grabbed his arm. “Hurry, faster!” he said. “They’re throwing grenades!”

“What?” Ringo cried. 

“Yes, go!” Paul pushed him ahead just as another grenade landed about forty yards from them. “Shit!” 

John suddenly stopped and looked around. “Where the hell is Billy?”

Paul groaned. “I’ll find him, keep going!” He turned around and went back. “Billy!”

Then the thought hit him. What if…

_ No. _

Panic shot through Paul as he raced over to the last spot the grenade had hit. There was no way Billy was nearby. He was...he was  _ with _ George the last time Paul saw him! “Billy?” He pushed through the grass. “Billy?”

As the smoke cleared, Paul could see someone on the ground, quite close to the grenade’s remnants. Stomach dropping, Paul prayed it wasn’t Billy. It couldn’t be. Crouching down beside him, Paul gently turned him over and promptly groaned.

It was Billy.

“No. No, no...nonono _ nono _ …” Paul shook him. “Billy?  _ Billy _ …?”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, and he blinked them open. “Macca?”

“Oh my  _ god, _ you’re alive,” Paul sighed, relief overtaking him. “Are you okay?”

Billy scowled. “Ouch.”

The others trodded through the grass. “Did you find him?” John growled, pushing the weeds back to make a path through. “Is he okay?”

“I’m...I’m good,” Billy tried to get up, but he slipped on the mud and sat back down again. One of his arms was hanging limp. “Never mind.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” George went over to help him up, but just then, Paul saw something coming toward them in the corner of his eye. He stared up at a tall, dark figure, whose silver eyes flashed in the dark. Maxwell. _Maxwell._ _Maxwell!_ Paul wanted to pull his hair out. He wanted to tear his eyes out. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to _kill_ him!

Maxwell didn’t say a word. His gaze drifted over to Brian, then John, then Billy. Very slowly, Billy looked over at Brian’s belt and the pistol that was wedged there. He reached up and grabbed it.

Paul knew what he was going to do.

And he didn’t stop him.

Quick as a flash, Billy pointed the pistol straight at Maxwell, and in that split second, pulled the trigger. Paul flinched back as a loud crack echoed through the field. Maxwell fell back into the grass. Paul could tell from experience. He was dead.

John’s jaw dropped, and he looked over at Billy. He’d dropped the gun and was now shivering uncontrollably. “ _ Billy… _ ”

It was silent. 

“Did you just  _ kill _ him?”

Billy swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, and it was pretty obvious he was going into overdrive, as he usually would. “It’s okay,” Paul grabbed him before he could freak out. “It’s okay, you killed him, alright? He’s dead, he’s  _ dead _ .”

“Oh my  _ god _ !” Billy shouted. 

“It’s okay, it’s all right,” Paul pulled him in for a hug. “It’s okay.”

John and George shared a horrified but strangely fascinated glance. Brian picked his pistol up and shoved it back in his belt. Ringo stood over Maxwell, eyes wide as saucers. It had yet to hit any of them; Maxwell was really dead, and really gone.  _ Punishment fits the crime, _ Paul thought for a brief moment.

Billy pulled back, sniveling. “Oh my god, I just killed someone!”

“Yeah.”

“I just…”

“Yeah, you did.”

John crouched down beside him, grinning. “Wow, Billy, you’re a murderer!”

“Don’t  _ patronize _ him,” Paul scowled. 

“He really did it…” Brian stared down at Maxwell from beside Ringo. “Ha! The bastard’s really dead, then.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad, Billy,” Ringo said helpfully. “He was gonna do it to us anyway.”

“But…”

“No, you’ve officially sealed your spot in the Beatles,” John said jokingly. “Can’t be one of us until you’ve committed a  _ murder _ .”

“None of us have committed a murder!” Paul protested.

“Except for me,” Billy murmured.

“Hey, listen…” Paul turned to look at him. “You should  _ not _ feel bad about this. It was all in self-defense. He was going to kill you anyway, so...I mean...it’s an equal trade-off. You know?”

Billy looked like he was having a hard time believing him. “But…”

“No buts,” Paul held up his hand to stop him. “It’s okay.”

Billy glanced back over at Maxwell. “Are you sure?”

Paul nodded. “Yeah. You...you saved all of our lives, really. So...by killing one man, you let five others live. ‘Kay? Now we don’t need to live in fear anymore. Now we can worry about...other things.”

“Very nice speech, Mr. Heath,” John said, and Paul shot him a glare.

“It’s okay, Billy,” Ringo pulled him up. “Everything’s gonna be alright!”

Billy shook his head and, surprisingly enough, smiled. “I...I guess so.”

“Hey, three cheers for Billy, then?” John laughed. 

Billy beamed as the first rays of morning sun spread across the field. And Paul could tell, that...really, for the very first time since that fateful night in ‘66, that Billy Shears really felt like a Beatle.


	55. Chapter 55

January 30th, 1969

\---

The rooftop was set. Speakers were scattered, microphones set up, cameras rolling. London wasn’t going to know what hit them. Billy braced himself for an icy blast of wind to hit him in the face. It was so  _ cold. _ “Ugh...why did we decide to do this in the middle of winter?”

John shrugged, zipping up his heavy coat. “I dunno, but it’s your loss for wearing that suit,” he said. “The rest of us are set.”

“Just trying to show off,” Billy grinned. “Still Paul McCartney, after all.”

“You’re  _ trying _ to be,” Paul muttered, fixing Billy’s hair. “Goodness, gracious. I think you might slip up after all!”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Don’t  _ remind _ me.”

“It’ll be gear, don’t worry,” Ringo said. “I can’t wait.” 

“I didn’t want to go on the roof,” George muttered. “I can already feel the cold seeping into me…”

“Don’t be dramatic, George,” John got to the last step and opened the door. People were waiting outside, leaning forward to see the legendary Beatles come out. “Now, come on. The people are waitin’.”

George and Ringo followed after him, murmuring in excitement. Billy went to go out, but he paused. He turned around to see Paul standing there, at the top of the stairs, hands in his pockets. “Well...good luck out there,” he said with a smile. “Have a good time.”

Billy gazed over at him, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed. “I will,” he said. 

Paul seemed to notice his apprehension. “It’s all right,” he said, dusting his jacket off and straightening it. “It’s not too cold out there...and besides, it won’t be long before there will be noise complaints.”

“Y’think?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Billy sighed, trying to make himself feel more confident. “Well...I guess I’ll be off.” He went to the door, and then turned around. “Paul?”

Paul glanced up briefly. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Paul smiled. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow wow wow! finally done!! thanks for all the hits and the kudos and the love :) i really enjoyed this one and i hope you'll look out for my next fic because i think you're really gonna like it too!! 🍋


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